In Safe Hands
by happyday girl
Summary: On the way home from a mission the Musketeers find themselves lost in a dark forest; the situation turns desperate as they are ambushed and left struggling for survival. When rescue comes they think their troubles are over- in reality, they are only just beginning, and they find themselves fighting for their lives. Hurt!Aramis and D'Artagnan, with Awesome!bigbrothers. Rated T. R&R?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Well, whilst I'm still dealing with writer's block for 'Possessed', I thought I'd start a new fic! But don't worry, I have all this planned out and ready to go, so I promise I'll finish this one! ^^**

 **As per usual with my fics, this will contain whump/comfort, brotherly moments and (hopefully) some suspense and tension, so I hope you'll enjoy it!**

 **Onwards!**

* * *

'Why'd it have to rain now?' Aramis glanced over at Porthos as the larger man punctuated his question with a sigh and a tut. The two of them hitched up their hoods to cover their heads and they hunkered down on their horses; it would take a least another half day's ride to get back to the city, perhaps more.

Athos and d'Artagnan were beside them as they meandered along the dirt road, their cloaks also bunched around their faces as an almighty crack of thunder sounded above their heads. The rain seemed to be falling in sheets, soaking everything in it's path.

'Shall I ask the great spirit of rain?' He replied with a quirked eyebrow to his friend, before titling his head back and cupping his hands around his wet mouth. Before the other three could react he took a deep breath and bellowed 'WHY DO YOU RAIN ON MY DEAR FRIENDS?!' before sitting back and waiting.

After a few seconds of the patter of rain and the peals of thunder he turned to Porthos and shrugged. 'Don't know. Sorry.'

'Idiot.' Athos muttered, shaking his head ruefully as he overtook Aramis on the path.

'Can't we just, I don't know, wait by them trees?' D'Artagnan, his hair plastered to his head, muttered with chattering teeth as he pointed to a large tree that could offer shelter.

'Any other time, I'd say yes,' Athos replied with a sigh. 'But the King wants these signed contracts as soon as possible. The less time they spend in damp pockets the better.'

'I suppose,' the Gascon nodded, wiping his sopping fringe off his forehead. He grinned as he watched Aramis push his own dripping hair back and away from his face. 'Looks like I'm not the only one that the 'wet dog' jokes can be aimed at now!' He shot at him with a grin.

'Shut it, welp!' Aramis replied with a smile, suppressing a chuckle as Porthos laughed. 'I look positively dashing with wet hair, I'll have you know. Porthos and Athos will attest to that-You on the other hand look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards.' He grinned as d'Artagnan pretended to look affronted.

They retired for a few minutes in a companionable silence, punctuated only by the rain and thunder. The clouds above their heads were a horrible stormy grey-blackness, and the forest they were travelling through seemed to be pressing in on them from all sides.

Aramis sighed and began to whistle under his breath to pass the time; he flexed his wet legs on his horse, inwardly groaning as the material stuck to his calves and thighs. He hated the rain. Give him basking sunshine any day, he thought to himself.

Minutes passed, and the road become more and more slick with mud as what looked like a small river cascaded down the slight hill they were travelling up. Small rocks were dislodged and skittered down the path, and the horses were soon soaked to the bone as well as their riders.

'Are you sure we can't shelter awhile?' Aramis asked lightly, wiping his dripping face for what felt like the hundredth time. 'I'm starting to get bored of getting wet.'

Athos shivered as he considered. Treville had told them to make haste, as the King was waiting for these contracts to finalise an important new trade route for the city. An almighty crack of thunder sounded, making his horse jolt sideways a little in fear; maybe stopping for ten minutes or so wasn't a bad idea.

'Just for a while,' he finally agreed, before looking round for a suitable place. Porthos and Aramis grinned at each other at his words, whilst d'Artagnan whooped under his breath at the prospect of getting out the deluge.

Spotting a small copse of thick trees Athos pointed it out to the others; at least they'd get out of the pouring rain for now. True dryness and warmth would not be available until they got back home. 'Quick, get under here,' he muttered as he spurred his horse on. Together the four of them quickly ducked under the small clearing.

Though the rain still managed to get between the branches and large leaves, Aramis let out a contended sigh as his head was for once safe from the raindrops. 'Bliss,' he muttered as he wiped a gloves hand down his face.

'How long until we get back home?' D'Artagnan asked, shivering in the cold.

'Not long, perhaps another forty miles or so.' Athos replied.

'Forty!' Echoed the Gascon. 'In this?!' He motioned the rain.

'Well, unless you want to uproot a tree and use it as your own personal umbrella, I'd say yes.' Athos replied with a smile.

D'artagnan considered for a moment, looking up at the trees. 'Not a bad idea..' He chuckled, before wiping his nose.

'I don't think this is stopping, Athos,' Porthos said after a while, peering up at the black sky. 'We might as well keep going.'

Athos sighed, knowingly friend was right. Treville would probably already be questioning their lateness. 'Hoods up, gents.' He finally muttered, wiping the worst droplets from his horses back as he made to rejoin the path.

'Why don't we take that path?' Aramis muttered, turning his head and pointing to another road, covered on both sides by branches. It was still waterlogged, but it would be better than the mudslide of a path they were previously travelling on.

'It might not lead were we want it to.' Athos replied.

'But it might be a shortcut!' Aramis countered with a smile. 'Come on, I take full responsibility if we have to turn around and come back the other way.'

'We'll hold you to that, Mis,' Porthos nodded at him as he passed, a grin on his face. 'First round will be on you!'

'And first round on you if I get you home in half the time!' Aramis called back with a laugh.

With a chuckle he duly followed the other two, leaving d'artagnan to pick up the rear as they entered the forest path and slowly made their way along it.

* * *

'It's quite dark in here, ain't it!' Porthos muttered in a dark voice as they meandered along the road. It was longer than any of them had anticipated, and Aramis was already lamenting the loss of his money for having the best shortcut.

'That's the way they like them,' he replied, turning and giving d'artagnan a significant look as he put emphasis on the word 'they'.

'Who?' The Gascon replied, knowing by now not to fall hook, line and sinker for another of Aramis' tall tales. He regarded him warily all the same, as he knew Aramis could spin a good yarn.

'Why, don't you know?' Aramis spoke in a light whisper that made Porthos snort and Athos roll his eyes. He hoped the lad wouldn't fall for one of his friend's stories again. He probably would, though.

Aramis continued when D'Artagnan didn't answer. 'Well, as told to me by grandfather, and his father before him-'

'Come on Mis, get on with it!' Athos called, shivering.

Aramis nonetheless took a dramatic breath before starting his tale- 'The forest people live here- they were outcasts from their villages for their heinous crimes, so despicable that even now they're not spoken of in civilised conversation ...'

'What did they do?' D'artagnan asked, eyes wide as he lost himself into the story. Again.

'You had to ask,' Athos muttered drily, as Aramis gave a mock cry of surprise at the lad's lack of knowledge.

'You don't know much, do you?' He spoke in a hushed tone.

'Obviously not,' Athos whispered with a smile.

'Well, let me tell you! It was said that they killed their neighbours and friends just for fun- they chased them across the fields in the dead of night like dogs, baying and laughing as their unfortunate victims ran for their very lives!' He looked across at Porthos, who chuckled uneasily. Thing was, that story sounded familiar to him, too.

'Didn't they get caught?' D'Artagnan breathed, hardly paying any attention to his numb face and hands.

'Only after they had killed forty, fifty people- men, women, it didn't matter to them. They'd take bets to see which poor sod would last the longest.' Aramis shivered despite himself. 'And, unlike most- well, all- of my other stories, this one is true!'

'Get away!' D'Artagnan cried, shaking his head. 'It's not true.'

'Well, it happened years, decades, ago. They're all dead by now. No one has seen or heard of them for years-'

'Because it didn't happen,' Porthos interjected, casting the younger man a smile. 'He's having you on, lad.'

'I would never!' Aramis replied, eyes wide as he feigned shock again. 'Not this time, anyway!' He turned to Athos, who had stayed oddly silent through the whole story. 'Tell them it's true, Athos!' He muttered, 'you know the stories as well as I!'

'When I was a child we did hear stories...' Athos muttered, voice dark. Aramis turned to the other two, triumphant, and nodded. 'See!'

'Well then, how could-' Porthos' amused comeback was cut short but Athos clearing his throat.

'Gentlemen,' he started in a loud voice, before stopping his horse and turning to the three men behind him. 'I do believe we're lost.'

'Lost?' D'Artagnan echoed. 'But we've only been following one path!'

'A path that forked three times whilst we were speaking,' Athos added, quirking an eyebrow. D'Artagnan sat back on his horse, slightly defeated. He didn't remember that.

'Whilst you've been talking of murderous outcasts I've unfortunately lost the trail we were following,'

'Oh Athos,' Aramis sighed, rolling his eyes with a smile. 'How could you?'

'Quite.' His friend remarked, before sighing. Rain was still pattering onto their coats, and nightfall was now setting in. Fast.

'Why don't we just go back the way we came?' Porthos asked, looking around. Their path had indeed changed, he noted with a heavy feeling in his stomach. The road was now thick with bracken on either side instead of tall trees.

They were deep in the forest now, with darkness creeping towards them on all sides once more. Perfect, he thought drily.

'If we go back we might just get ourselves more lost,' Aramis replied in a low voice.

His skin prickled as he looked around; the Autumn cold was sweeping in, and as the darkness lowers itself onto the earth a mist was curling through the pockets of undergrowth towards them; he steadied his horse with a calm hand, eyes focused on the world beyond.

'I don't like this,' D'Artagnan muttered, moving his horse so he was level with Athos. 'Which way should we go?'

'Forwards,' Athos replied. 'It's the only way to go now.' He turned to Aramis and Porthos. 'Come on, we don't want to be-' his voice slipped into silence as the sound of a gun firing caught their ears. They surged upright on their horses and looked around as a second bang made their horses jump in fear. 'Get to cover!' Aramis shouted, taking the reigns of his horse and pushing forwards. 'Go, D'Artagnan!' He shouted as the lad hesitated, unsure of which way to go. 'Into those trees!'

He followed the young Gascon, dismounting and drawing his sword as they stopped. They waited in silence, covered by the trees- he spotted Athos and Porthos opposite them in another copse of bushes. Seconds trickled past painfully as they tried to spot the source of the noise.

'Probably hunters.' Aramis finally whispered. 'I think they've gone now.' He stepped backwards and made to put his sword away; instinct, however, made him stop.

'Gone?' A very cold and unfamiliar voice sneered in his ear. The musketeer smelt hops, smoke and meat on his breath and fought an urge to gag; he half turned to the lad, but was soon stopped as he felt a knife at his back. He flicked his eyes sideways, his heart plummeting as he saw the D'Artagnan had a long blade pressed to his throat.

'Why would we go?' Another voice, deep and gravelly, sounded from behind the Gascon. D'Artagnan tried to look around, but soon stopped as beads of blood appeared on his neck. Aramis tried to look for Athos and Porthos, but couldn't spot them in the sheet of rain still plummeting down. He growled as he felt the blade move from his back to his throat; he felt the tip push into his neck, signalling he had better not make any rash decisions.

'But we've just got here...' The man added, before chuckling softly as thunder crashed again above their heads.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! More twisty turns and surprises to come!**

 **Please review!**

 **X**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Thank you to everyone who likes this so far- I hope you like this chapter!**

 **Onwards….**

* * *

Aramis groaned slightly as the blade dug into his skin; he flicked his eyes around again as an evening fog began to filter its way through the trees and undergrowth of the forest; they fell on the place he had last seen Porthos and Athos, sheltering under the trees from the rain. They weren't there now- he hoped they hadn't been cornered too.

The man who currently had a blade at his neck caught his movements and took them as a challenge; he roughly put a callused hand across his chest from behind and pulled him back. 'I wouldn't try anything stupid if I were you!' He grunted, moving the blade on his skin again.

'Noted,' Aramis deadpanned in a strained voice. Both arms were now pinioned to his sides.

'Oy...' The man holding d'artagnan suddenly piped up; Aramis managed to turn enough to see him nod his head at their clothing. Moreover, their royal insignia and cloaks. They looked like all their Christmases had come at once.

'Musketeers?' The one holding Aramis spat, voice now at a different, hopeful sounding pitch. Suddenly, the two musketeers in question were roughly pulled up and out of the shade and protection of the trees, and were dragged out into a different, open part of the forest, unprotected from the still-lashing rain that was hammering down.

D'Artagnan almost yelled out in panic as his boot slipped; he didn't fancy being accidentally skewered by a dirty great blade if he could help it. The man clenched his fist around his cloak and twisted it around, pushing him roughly while keeping him close and upright.

The younger man took a look at Aramis as they were pulled round so they were facing each other a little as they were frogmarched along. The older man looked stoic, calm and collected, but the Gascon could see by the way his eyes were sweeping around that he was thinking rapidly on the spot.

Their eyes finally met as they were pushed further along a gravel path now swimming in rainwater. With a swift, small nod of his head, Aramis hoped he had conveyed to the youngest that he needn't worry, that everything was under control. He hoped it would be enough for him until he thought of a real plan.

Suddenly the men stopped by a large oak tree; in two swift, seemingly well practised movements, the blades were removed from their necks and they were pushed roughly into the tree. As the two musketeers turned they saw that the blades had now been replaced by guns. Perfect.

'We don't want no trouble now!' One man warned, eyes flashing.

'Bit late for that...' D'Artagnan muttered darkly.

'What d'you say?!' The other man spat, taking a step towards the youngest with a fist raised- Aramis quickly ducked in front of the Gascon- 'Touch him and you'll regret it!' He warned, his own eyes dark as the man stopped. He looked across to the other man, who Aramis now took to be the leader. With one look from him, the man lowered his fist and raised his weapon again as he stepped back.

Aramis took a long breath out and stepped back beside D'Artagnan, but not before flashing the younger man a look that plainly said "don't do that again!"

'If you're nice to us, we'll be nice to you. How's that?' The leader muttered, eyebrows raised in a show of confidence.

'What do you want?' Aramis growled, in no mood for folly games.

'What are musketeers doing in these parts?' The other man jumped in, voice still laced with a violent hue.

'Travelling. Back to the city.' Aramis spoke in clipped tones. 'Going home.'

'I bet the King would pay a pretty penny to see you come to no harm...'

'There's plenty of us- he wouldn't miss us,' Aramis shrugged. 'We're not worth much.'

'No,' the man mused, before clicking the safety from his gun. 'But those cloaks are!' He added, raising his gun and pointing it at Aramis' head.

* * *

'Athos, over here!' Porthos whispered, wiping his wet face with his hand as the other man quickly came and crouched next to him. They exchanged dark looks as Athos looked across the foggy undergrowth and trees; his eyes finally fell on four, slightly blurred figures.

'Bastards...' The larger man muttered. Athos nodded his sentiment, reaching for his musket. He didn't know whether he'd get a clear shot without mistaking a figure for one of his friends. He saw, roughly, a man raise his arm at the figure, and could only surmise it was a weapon wielded by one of the robbers; if it was Aramis or D'Artagnan they would have shot already.

He was glad they had split up to find shelter from the rain, otherwise all four of them would be now staring down the barrel of a madman's gun.

Porthos had caught the exchange from where they had sheltered as Aramis and D'Artagnan had had the blades at their throats, but again they didn't have a good enough shot to be able to rescue their friends; it was one of the banes of being in deep forest.

He looked up suddenly as a crack of thunder broke in the sky; he felt Porthos jump slightly beside him.

The larger man's hands were numb with cold. 'Got a clear shot yet?' He whispered, knowing Athos' eyesight was bettered only by Aramis when it came to sharp shooting.

'I can't...' Athos whispered, thinking out loud as he tried to take aim, 'I can't tell the difference between three of the figures...' He thought he could positively identify D'Artagnan, as he was the smaller of the three. Even with the blue cloaks being a giveaway in daylight, the night was now creeping in, and coupled with the fog now enveloping the forest floor, he just couldn't be sure.

'Damn...' Porthos whispered, a flair of panic now seeping into his veins. 'What if we get closer?'

'And risk being exposed?' Athos sighed deeply, worry spearing his chest. 'We wait till I get a better shot.'

Porthos withheld a groan, and nodded his agreement. He just hoped it wouldn't be too long until a better shot was found.

A rumble of thunder, loud and intrusive, made him wince. 'Come on, move into range...' He whispered, more to himself than Athos. Just one or two steps to the left, and he'd nab one.

Seconds ticked by, each one making Porthos more and more worried. The two men holding Aramis and D'Artagnan sure were doing a lot of talking, he mused.

He was just about to turn and ask Athos if he thought the view was good when he saw him inexplicably lower his weapon. 'Athos, wha-' he turned properly as he saw Athos move both arms slowly upwards and above his head; he saw a dark, hooded figure standing behind his friend; moreover, he saw the barrel of a gun placed firmly behind him, pressing on the back of his head. The other man's eyes were wide, but not with worry; he looked livid as another gun was jabbed into Porthos' back.

'You too, big'un,' a dark voice muttered. With his mouth curled into an angry snarl, he complied, before growling as he and Athos were roughly pulled to their feet.

Athos turned round, looking the other man up and down. He was tall, with blond hair and brown eyes; he looked like a farmer, had it not been for the expensive-looking red coat he was wearing. It made him look like a poor prince, he thought. The other man wore ripped breeches and a dirty white shirt; peasant garb.

'Well now,' the man in the red coat chuckled, finger on the trigger of his gun. 'And what do we have here?'

'We are King's Musketeers,' Athos began his practised threat. It worked quite well in making sure no one messed with them whilst on the road. 'If you harm us it will amount to treason.'

'Really?' The man seemed unmoved.

'The penalty for treason is death.' Athos finished. Somewhere in his mind it dawned on him that they weren't dealing with a common-garden thief as the man chuckled again.

'We don't want to harm them, do we?' He asked the man next to him.

'No..' His eyes flashed as he gave Athos a smile. Suddenly, without warning, the two men jumped forwards, coshing both musketeers in the temples with the stocks of their guns. Like two branches, cut expertly from a tree, each man slumped to the sodden ground.

Athos groaned as he felt blood trickle down his face; his eyes flickered from the unconscious Porthos at his side to the two men now towering above them.

The man in the red coat knelt beside him, looking down at him as if he were a child.

'We just want to play with them.' He finished, chuckling darkly as Athos could do no more than finally let the darkness take him.

* * *

'You don't want to do that,' D'Artagnan muttered, yet Aramis did not flinch. He was used to threats and demands. It came with the job, really.

'Touch me and the wrath of the King will be on your heads.' He said calmly. 'Do you want that?'

The two men exchanged glances, but the leader was soon facing the musketeers again. 'Not if he can't find you!'

'What, will he think that we got lost?' Aramis retorted. 'Here?' His voice turned dark with warning. 'By nightfall this forest will be swarming with soldiers. Let us go and we'll stay silent.'

'Yeah, like we'd fall for that!' The leader muttered sardonically. He motioned with the gun. 'I've had enough of this. You two can't be no trouble if you're dead. Turn around.' He ordered.

D'Artagnan looked horrified as the two men now pointing their guns at their chest. 'Turn around!' The other man yelled.

'You'll regret this,' Aramis growled. D'Artagnan, however, who had now been in the company of this man long enough to hear and understand the slight changes to his tone of voice, detected fear now in his tone. He looked around desperately; his eyes sought figures in the foggy dusk, but all he could see was sweeping rain and encasing mist.

'I said turn around now!' The man shouted, shoving Aramis in the chest. They could now do no more than comply.

The two men turned, putting their arms above their heads. D'Artagnan heard Aramis spew out curses out the corner of his mouth, his musket hanging uselessly at his belt. Any movement they made now had to be careful calculated.

Now facing the oak tree, each man felt the weighted seconds tick by. Still no shot came. Aramis sighed as he heard the two men jabbering at each other in quick fire sentences, arguing about something or other. A slow torture, he mused to himself.

'No!' The leader finally shouted, and Aramis finally tensed. This was it. 'We do it my way!'

Suddenly, two loud, dull thuds made both musketeers jump. D'Artagnan turned with wide eyes as these two dull thuds were followed swiftly by two groans of pain and the sound of two men slumping to the wet ground. Silence followed.

The two musketeers turned, with Aramis' hand now gripping his musket tightly, eyes now narrowed and alert.

Two men now stood above the innate bodies of the men who had captured them- one was dressed in a fine red coat, although it was slightly frayed and dirty. The other was dressed in loose fitting clothes more akin to a labourer or servant. Both stood easily in front of them; the one in the red coat gave a tut and a wry smile as he looked down at the men on the ground.

'I...believe thanks are in order?' Aramis began without lowering his weapon. Instinct had yet again kicked in.

'Thank you,' D'Artagnan added, rubbing at his neck a little. His eyes furrowed as the men seemed to be ignoring them.

'Can we have your names at least?' Aramis said, now wary at the lack of communication. The man in the red coat finally looked up, as if seeing them for the first time.

'Are you hurt?' He asked, eyes creased in concern.

'No, thanks to you,' Aramis replied.

'Hmm...' The man muttered, before he looked down at the unconscious man sprawled at his feet; using his boot he moved his head to the side, before giving a sigh.

'We'd really just like to go now...' D'Artagnan muttered, but the man stood upright suddenly, seemingly oblivious that he had even spoken.

'That's the trouble with thieves and highwaymen,' he began, before lifting a gun of his own at the two men. 'You just can't get the staff these days, can you?' He finished with a sinister laugh.

'What th-' Aramis growled, feeling something heavy drop into his stomach. Before either of them could even react, a blast rang out, coupling immediately with a cry of pain from D'Artagnan.

Aramis yelled out, horrified, and sprang to his side, catching the Gascon as he stumbled backwards, clutching at a smoking wound in his shoulder.

He yelled out as the man in the red coat did no more than laugh- seconds later, before Aramis could even raise his musket to aim it, the man was at his side- all it took was one strong punch and he was down, seeing stars in his vision as his head erupted in pain. As he sat, dazed, a kick in the chest sent him careening to the sodden floor; a boot to the temple finished him, and blackness took him before he even had time to squeeze the trigger.

D'Artagnan, temporarily blindsided by the immense pain erupting in his shoulder, threw himself over to Aramis' side as the man sank into unconsciousness. 'Who are you?' He growled through clenched teeth, lacing his fingers into Aramis' sleeve so he wouldn't be dragged from him. 'What do you want?'

'What do we want?' The man in the red coat sing-songed, a horrible smile still plastered on his face. He came close to the Gascon, who did not shy away from him, despite the fear he felt. The two men held each other's gazes until suddenly the man in the red coat drew his head back- before D'Artagnan could even flinch he brought his head forwards again with such force it connected with D'Artagnan's forehead with a sickening thud. The Gascon slumped instantly sideways, onto Aramis' back. There was silence for a few seconds, permeated only by rain hitting the leathers of the musketeers coats and the occasional hoot of an owl as nightfall truly set in.

'What do we want?' The man repeated in a low voice at D'Artagnan's earlier question as he rubbed the bruise now blooming on his own forehead, inwardly cursing his technique but not wanting to show it. He pushed the thought away, instead grinning down at the two musketeers at his feet, ready to join the other two already tied and gagged in his cart.

'We just want some fun!'

* * *

 **Lots more to come for these poor old musketeers! ^^**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**

 **X**


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis came to with a groan as rain droplets fell against his cheek in a steady rhythm; he blinked water from his eyes as he groggily opened them, only to be faced with darkness. His head pulsed in a throbbing pain, causing him to hitch his breathing as he looked around.

Night had well and truly fallen now, and all he could see were dark flashes of objects in his peripheral vision as they passed at a high speed- seconds later he became aware that he was lying on something that was moving; perhaps a trailer or cart.

As he moved gingerly on the spot, flexing and relaxing assorted muscles and bones to ensure that no damage had been done, he became alarmed that he couldn't move his arms. They were bound tightly to his sides by thick ropes- as he groaned in exertion he felt a course fabric against his mouth; a gag. Perfect.

Sitting back agains the damp wooden side of the trailer, the musketeer took a good look at his surroundings; the cart was being pulled by two large horses, and two men were sat up the front, hunched over against the bad weather. He looked round outside the cart- the road was a mud slick, lined with trees on either side and banked by bushes full of sharp thorns. Small, man made paths had been cut into the trees, but it was so dark that Aramis couldn't see down any of them.

He sighed against his gag and tried to quell his hammering chest- his heart gave a thrill of panic as he looked down to see three inert bodies slumped on the floor of the cart. He tried to kneel forwards, to make sure that his friends were alright, but as he did so he began to overbalance; a flash of lightheadedness struck him and he had to sit back, breathing heavily.

He cursed himself as he fought a wave of nausea that washed over him; he instead settled on just using his eyes to see if they were alright. D'Artagnan was still out for the count, he saw; blood oozed from his shoulder. He hoped it wouldn't be long before they stopped so he could give his wound a proper look.

Porthos was slumped next to him, face down on the cart floor. The bigger man moved sluggishly as the cart turned a corner; Aramis looked up as the men stopped talking suddenly, but they didn't turn round.

His eyes finally fell on Athos, and he almost jumped as he saw two eyes staring back at him- the two men looked each other over silently, as Athos was gagged too. They communicated through their eyes and expressions; they didn't need to talk. Athos flicked his eyes over to the men sitting up the front, who had started to talk again, and back to Aramis.

 _How many?_ His expression said.

Aramis blinked twice. Athos nodded. He then roved his eyes around Aramis, as if over-dramatising seeing if he was ok.

 _Are you hurt?_ The look meant.

Aramis shook his head. Athos nodded at that, visibly relaxing just a little. He jerked his head at Porthos and D'Artagnan.

 _What about them?_

Aramis nodded once, shrugging at the same time. _I don't know. I think they're alright._ He would explain about the youngest member's injuries once they had come to a stop.

Athos nodded, before his eyes creased as a peal of thunder sounded above their heads.

They travelled in silence again, before Athos came to the distinct impression that the cart was slowing. He moved upwards slightly, trying to crane his head and peer around- he frowned as his eyes came to rest on a ramshackle, dirty, but quaint stone cottage in the middle of the woods.

 _What was going on?_ He thought to himself as the cart came to a complete stop and the two men got out of the cart.

The sudden end of movement seemed to pull D'Artagnan and Porthos from their stupors, too. Porthos groaned against his gag as opened bleary eyes- he frowned and looked about as he sat up, catching both the eye of Athos and Aramis as he did so.

D'Artagnan opened his eyes, his face pale against the moonlight- Aramis pushed himself to his side, letting the gascon use his shoulder and chest to pull himself up; it gave him an excuse to check his injury over. It was quite a deep wound, but the bullet only seemed to have grazed his shoulder; blood oozed from it, and Aramis knew it would require treatment.

They all looked up as they heard the two men approach- Athos tensed himself, and Aramis could see the same fire he felt build inside himself reflected in his eyes as one of the men un-latched the back of the cart, opening it up so they could get out.

Four stony faces stared across at the two men as the rain continued to pound on the wood. There was silence for a few seconds before the man in the red coat banged on the side of the cart. 'You can either get out yourselves-' he started in a gruff voice, before producing a gun from his coat, '-or I'll make you. Your choice.'

He looked across at Athos, who he seemed to assume was the leader. Aramis watched him consider his options in a split second- he finally shuffled forwards, giving the medic a look as he passed that plainly said _we'll get out of this_. As he reached the end of the cart the man in the red coat grabbed his coat and pulled him, sending him to the wet ground.

Porthos was next, although the man seemed to think twice about pulling him off the cart; the look that Porthos gave him made sure of that.

Aramis made sure he was next; he shuffled in front of D'Artagnan, hoping the lad would try and latch himself onto a shoulder. D'Artagnan moved forwards a little, wincing as he accidentally knocked his shoulder.

'Come on!' The man shouted as Aramis tried to gently nudge him forwards, anger laced in his voice. 'I'm not waiting all night!' He reached up to the younger man and viciously dragged him down the length of the cart, before pulling him off the edge and letting him fall to the ground.

Aramis let out a gagged howl of anger, shaking his head as he quickly scuttled and moved off the cart- he saw Athos throw himself at the man in the red coat, hoping to knock him to the ground too. The man answered by punching him in the gut and sending him to the wet ground instead. As Athos struggled up, face contorted in pain, he lifted his gun and aimed it at the four men. 'One more move and he dies!' He shouted, before pointing the gun at D'Artagnan, who Aramis was helping to his feet as best he could.

The four men stood in silence, staring out the two men as lightening illuminated the sky above their heads. 'Better,' the man growled, before cricking his neck and relaxing his face. 'Told you these ones looked good...' He whispered to the man at his side, who nodded with a horrible smile on his face.

Athos spoke from behind his gag, the words muffled and garbled. The man sighed and reached forwards, keeping his gun trained at D'Artagnan at all times. He ripped the gag off, stepping backwards at Athos took a steadying breath. If looks could kill, Athos would have killed these men thrice over, Porthos thought to himself.

'We are Musketeers,' he began, voice quivering. 'You have both committed treason to the highest degree. But we are not unreasonable. Let us leave now and we will do no more about this.' He spoke with an authority and brevity he didn't quite believe in at this moment- he hoped this olive branch would be enough to let them go. Then they would be back.

'You really expect us to believe that?' The man in the red coat asked lightly, his gun still trained at D'Artagnan's head. 'They have what he said he wanted...' He spoke again to the man next to him. Aramis frowned at that. Who said he wanted? What did he want?

'They might be even better than the last ones...' The man replied, nodding. The two men chuckled as the musketeers looked on.

Fear started to settle in Athos' stomach, hot and uncomfortable. 'Our captain is expecting us,' he started again. The men didn't seem to be paying them any attention now. 'He will come to look for us.'

'He won't find anything, though.' The man replied, grinning as he smoothed down the lapels of his red coat. 'We always make sure of that.'

'We-'

'I think you should be quiet now-' the man snapped, before walking forwards and tying the gag around Athos' mouth once more. 'Come on. He'll be waiting on us.' He barked to the man next to him. He nodded and produced a gun of his own- with a sadistic grin he pointed it at Aramis. 'Come on, pretty boy- you first!'

Aramis flexed his wrists against his bonds, hoping they would snap at any second. When all he succeeded in doing was making his wrists sore, he gave the man pointing the gun at him an angry look and started to slowly follow.

They were led down a gravel path lined with small bushes that led to the house. It looked like the kind of abode an elderly couple would live in, or a smallholding for a small family. The windows were drawn, but Aramis could see that a fire was lit inside as a flickering orange hue could be seen from behind the thin fabric.

Smoke rose from the brick chimney; the acrid smoke made Athos turn up his nose as he walked behind D'Artagnan- he growled as he felt the gun at the small of his back. He didn't know what to do- none of their training had covered situations like this.

The man in the red coat rapped on the red painted wooden door; Aramis expected a gruff man to answer, perhaps wielding an axe or another weapon of some kind. What he didn't expect, however, was the door to be opened to reveal an elderly, slightly plump lady in a pinny,. Her hair was in a net, and her lined face was creased in a gentle smile as she looked at the six men on her doorstep.

'He in?' The man in the red coat asked.

'Yes, in the back,' the old woman replied, voice smooth and gentle. D'Artagnan was immediately reminded of grandmothers and the kindly ladies who sometimes visited the garrison at christmastime.

'Tell him we've got four more. Good ones this time.'

'Tell him yourself, I'm not your servant.' The lady replied, giving him a look, to which the man bowed his head and nodded. He looked to the other man- 'get them in. I'll tell him we've arrived.'

Aramis growled low in his throat as the man pushed him in the lower back- the woman turned without another word and led the way inside. Aramis hesitated at the threshold- a jab in his back made him stumble forwards.

The hallway was low, the room warm and stifling; the smell of cooking meats and baking bread wafted from a large room to the left. The woman kept walking forwards, and all the four men could do was follow. The room they were led to was large and circular, with a large roaring fire at one end, near which a single high backed chair was sitting, it's back to the approaching men.

The old lady bent and tended to the fire, throwing one log onto it and stepping back as it crackled. She looked across at the musketeers, still bound and gagged, who all regarded her warily.

'Don't look so worried, dears,' she muttered kindly, a small giggle escaping her. 'I don't bite.' Her eyes fell on D'Artagnan and the wound on his shoulder. 'This one is hurt.' She suddenly said to the room at large. She stepped forwards, arm outstretched, but Athos stepped deftly in front of the gascon, shaking his head at her.

'If I don't tend to it, it will get infected. Do you want that?' Her voice was light and reasonable. Athos was conflicted; he looked across at D'Artagnan, taking in the state of the sound himself. He looked at Aramis, whose wide eyes offered him no help. This old lady could be as bad as the men who had captured them- but without her help D'Artagnan would die.

He looked across at the younger man once more, deciding to let him make the choice. He saw the he was pale and shaky; the gascon gave a small nod, to which Athos stepped backwards.

'Good.' The old lady smiled, and as she passed Athos smelt violets and musks. 'He won't be gone long,' she added, before clasping the Gascon's arm and steering him away.

Athos made to follow, worry flashing in his chest, but the man in the red coat was back, face plastered in a smile. The four remaining musketeers tensed as he came to a stop in front of them.

'He wants to see you.' He started, before leaning forwards and, one by one, removing the gags from their mouths.

'Let us leave now and we'll tell no one.' Aramis muttered, licking his lips. 'You have our word.'

'I think it's a little late for that, don't you?' A new, deep voice sounded in the semi-darkness of the room. The man in the red coat chuckled darkly and stepped back as a large shadowed figure approached.

Porthos strained his eyes to see, but he could only make out blurred features of the man as he stopped by the fire.

'Who are you?' Athos growled. 'What do you want?'

'How many?' The man barked, ignoring him, voice gruff and gravely.

'Four. Strong. Soldiers.' The man in the red coat replied.

'Soldiers? What rank?'

'Musketeers, they said.'

'Musketeers?' Aramis detected a hint of panic. 'Of all the soldiers in France and you pick the king's personal bodyguards?'

'Well, we-'

'Enough.' The musketeers heard the distinct sound of clinking coins. A bag of money was thrown at each of the men. 'You've done well. They'll do perfectly. The fact they are Musketeers may yet work in our favour. It may push up the price...'

'What the hell is going on here?!' Athos exploded finally, voice echoing across the room.

A dry chuckle was all he got in reply. 'All in good time.' The shadowed man answered, before he clicked his fingers. Suddenly, each man was grabbed from behind with a startled yell- a cloth soaked in a liquid was clamped over their mouths and noses. They struggled wildly at the strong grips of their captors- Seconds later each man slumped to the stone flagged floor to the sound of the shadowed man laughing.

'Put them in the barn. Use the chains.' He ordered as each man was dragged upright. 'It starts tomorrow. Tell the others.'

'What about, y'know...' The man in the red coat asked, voice trailing off.

'He can come. If he behaves himself I might let him have a turn- but this is our time now.' He sniffed as he saw Aramis' lifeless body thrown onto the back of one of the other men.

'Come on, we've got work to do before they all get here tomorrow...' He muttered as he turned to sit back in his chair by the fire.

'Them the fun can really begin.'

* * *

 **Next chapter- things really start to go from bad to worse!**

 **Hope you liked this, please review!**

 **X**


	4. Chapter 4

Porthos woke with a groan, his voice echoing in the dim light of morning. He opened bleary, bloodshot eyes and looked furtively around as he took in his surroundings. They were in some sort of outbuilding, he figured; he could smell a deep, earthy stench permeating from outside . It was a peaty, thick smell that immediately clogged his nostrils; indicating maybe a shed or a barn. Soil was caked on the floor, black and rotting, and he turned up his nose as the distinct smell of manure wafted in from a window to his left.

He groaned again, flexing his wrists. He was sat slumped against a wall, his hands encircled by thick silver chains, tethering him to the floor. 'Aramis?' He called, his voice cracking slightly. 'Athos?'

'Here,' the familiar sound of their medic called out. The weak morning sunlight had not yet reached the other side of the building, but if Porthos squinted he could just make out his friend, also slumped and shackled to the floor. 'You hurt?'

Porthos snorted, but had to concede that he was not physically hurt. 'Nah, I'm alright. You?'

'Could be worse. Could be better, though.' The larger man heard Aramis moved around a little; the clinking of chains met his ears for a few seconds before the other man cleared his throat.

'Where's Athos?'

'Dunno. I can't see him- thought he was with you.'

'No..' Porthos could hear panic in the other man's voice now. 'Athos?!" He called out, louder now.

There was a few seconds of silence before they heard the tinkling of chains rustling from somewhere in the middle of them- Porthos strained his eyes, before finally settling on the figure of Athos; he was sat, slumped against a wooden support that ran from the ceiling to the floor, pinioned, as they were, to the ground by chains.

'Sorry,' Athos muttered to them, groaning as he sat up straighter. 'Must have dozed off.'

'I've never been so glad to hear your voice, Mon Ami!' Aramis chuckled, shaking his head.

'I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or not...' Athos muttered, sighing as he looked around. 'Where in God's name are we?'

'Don't know. Some sort of shed, I think.' Porthos replied, sniffing and trying not to gag.

'Outside, definitely,' Aramis nodded. 'And these bastards...' He shook his wrists, sending the chains rattling again, 'are going to take ages to pick.'

Athos sat back, trying to quell the panic in his chest. These men depended on him now, and his next moves. He suddenly looked around, eyes wide as a new anxiety pierced his stomach.

'D'Artagnan...?' He enunciated his fear, throwing the question to the other two men.

'Hasn't come back, ' Aramis answered in a dark, somber voice.

'No one has seen him since last night?' Athos breathed, eyes wide. Porthos, to his left, shook his head sadly, whilst Aramis strained against his bonds in a renewed effort to get free.

The medic swore under his breath. 'This is all my fault..' He grunted, shaking his head. 'We should never have let him go with that old crone...'

'Well,' a sweet, feminine voice suddenly cut into their conversation. Porthos straightened immediately, trying to pinpoint the woman who had just entered the building, while Athos and Aramis merely needed to look to the door that was behind them. 'That's not very nice, considering I've brought your friend back, and breakfast for you all...' She added, stepping forwards into the morning sunlight.

The three men stayed silent as she led a pale, but still very much alive D'Artagnan into the main part of the building where they all were. Athos looked him up and down, taking note of any new injury that he might have picked up.

'There now, you go and sit just here...' The woman motioned a spot next to Aramis, but still far enough away that the medic couldn't get to him while still tethered by the chains. 'Good lad.' Aramis cast his eyes over the Gascon as he gingerly sat- he didn't have his coat on any more, and there was a clean white bandage wound tight around his shoulder; it looked a decent job, and for that Aramis was grateful.

The feeling was dampened, however, as the old woman then stooped and, without a word, clicked chains around D'Artagnan's wrists- Athos watched in a quiet disbelief- this woman was old, feeble...why wasn't the younger man fighting back?

Once she was done, the old woman stood back up again, massaging her lower back.

'Here, have your coat back...' The woman continued, dropping the thick material onto the younger man's lap. 'A model patient, he was!' She smiled, a small chuckle erupting from her mouth. 'Very quiet, very good with pain...' She sighed good-naturedly, even though her comments were met with a wall of silence and suspicion from the four men sitting bound around her, before turning her attention to a wicker basket under her arm.

'Now, I've just got bread, I'm afraid, but it's fresh.' She began, taking out one loaf, encased in a white muslin-like material, at a time and dropping it into each musketeer's lap. 'I do suggest you eat it. You'll need your strength.'

'For what, my lady?' Aramis asked, hoping being polite would turn them into favour with her.

'You'll see...' She chuckled again, her laugh tinkling like his grandmother's used to when she was pretending to laugh at a joke he had told her.

Without another word she turned and walked back to the door. The door closed with a finality that made Athos very nervous. He pushed the feeling back, at least for now, and instead looked across to D'Artagnan again.

'You alright?' He asked. 'Did they hurt you?'

'I'm...fine.' The younger man replied, voice saturated with confusion. 'She fixed my shoulder, took the bullet out...' He looked across to Aramis, who was the closest to him. 'She saved my life, I guess.' The last word made the sentence sound like a question-why did they save him?

'Maybe they want us for something else,' Porthos muttered darkly.

'Like what?' D'Artagnan's voice was high, betraying his age and perceived innocence in the eyes of the seasoned musketeers.

'Probably money.' Athos sat back, resting his head against the wooden pole his was tethered to. 'It's always money with people like them.'

'Probably a ransom demand will be given to Treville, or even the King, no doubt.' Aramis muttered quietly, flexing his wrist against. The bread, still warm in its cloth covering, made him feel very hungry. 'You think they would...poison the bread?' He asked lightly as his stomach gave an almighty growl.

'They fixed the lad's shoulder, saving him from catastrophic infection and almost certain death.' Athos reminded him. 'I highly doubt they would poison the bread.'

Aramis let out a breath as he tried to work out how exactly to eat the damned bread without using his arms.

Before he could put his plan to the test the door opened with a tumultuous bang, and the sound of leather boots on stone permeated the air. Each man tensed as the figure stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed against his chest; it was the man with the red coat from the night before.

'Morning, lads!' He called his voice already grating in Athos' ear. 'I trust you all slept well.' He paused, as if waiting for the men to answer him.

'Hm,' he huffed, like a petulant child. 'Suit yourselves...' He muttered, before giving each man a proper look. 'Oh, look...' He chuckled, spying the bread in each of the men's laps. 'She made you breakfast, did she?' His voice was high and childlike as he spoke. Again, none of the musketeers spoke; they all merely sat in a forced silence, staring the man out.

'She never makes me breakfast...' His voice turned sour now. He stooped down and grabbed the bread from Aramis, looked at it for a few seconds, before dropping it onto the dirty floor and standing on it, squashing it into the soil and mud, '...and I'm her bloody son!'

He kicked the now useless bread into the corner of the room, before walking a few paces to his left and stooping to Athos now. Again, he took the bread, looked at it for a few seconds, before this time grasping the loaf and, with both hands, tearing it apart into halves and quarters before throwing the bits into the middle of the room.

'I do so much for this damn family, and what does she do?!' He cursed, his face almost alight with fury. He stopped his tirade for a second, breathing deeply to calm himself down. 'Well, don't worry..' He muttered, voice almost dripping with a kind of anger that Aramis had only heard in the most dangerous of prisoners and murderers he and the others had ever come across.

'Soon, they'll know what I'm really capable of...' He looked down at D'Artagnan, as if only seeing his for the first time. His eyes roved over him, before settling on his wound.

'Did she make it all better?' His voice was high again, mockingly so. He chuckled deeply and suddenly, without warning clasped a hand onto his shoulder, his thumb right in the middle of his bandage. D'Artagnan's face melted into an expression of agony as he cried out as the man squeezed, until red started to appear on the white of the bandage. Aramis roared in anger, desperately trying to break the chains. 'Leave him alone! He shouted.

'Don't want you to get _too_ comfy, do we?' The man muttered as he stepped back, a mad glint in his eye. He turned to Aramis, who was now breathing heavily with the exertion of trying to break his chains. 'Very good show, but these chains were forged by my grandfather, and they've never let him down.' He told him.

'Who are you?!' Aramis yelled, trying to throw himself forwards, 'what is this?!'

'It's a game.' The man simply said, a horrible smile spreading across his face. 'And you're the playing pieces!' He looked across at the men, before sighing as they still all said nothing.

'You city people don't know anything, do you?' He chuckled, before shaking his head and sighing. 'What season is it right now?' His words were met again with silence. This time, however, it seemed to make the man angry.

He stepped forwards to Athos, bound against the wooden support strut, before kneeling down in front of him. A slap to the face caught the musketeer off guard. 'What season is it?' He repeated.

Athos remained stoic, his mind whirring as he tried to think two steps ahead of the man. Another slap to the face echoed inside the room- Athos let out a breathy, deep laugh, his eyes dancing with anger as he felt his cheek begin to sting.

'What season is it?'

'It's Autumn.' Athos finally replied, voice dark.

The man sighed, shrugging. 'Well, yes,' he conceded, 'but what other season is it?' Another slap, hard enough to throw Athos' head to the side.

'What season? ' another slap, harder again. Still Athos said nothing.

'Come on, city boy- what season only really matters in the country?!' The man shouted into his voice, before catching his face with a backhanded blow.

'H-hunting season.' Athos finally said, a dark feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach as he said the words.

Aramis momentarily forgot to breathe as the realisation suddenly dawned. _Hunting season._

'Very good!' The man crowed, before standing up and looking around. 'It's hunting season. And you-' he looked around at the musketeers, '- you're the quarry.'

His words were met with a deathly silence. The sun was well and truly up now, sending sunlight casting down onto the shocked, disbelieving faces of the musketeers. This time, the man seemed to revel in the silence- without another word he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

There was a long, pained silence, as each man tried to digest the man's words. It was Aramis who finally broke the silence. 'Remind me _never_ to move to the countryside.'

His words were met with a strained smile from D'Artagnan, a small snort from Porthos and a roll of the eyes from Athos.

'What are we going to do, Athos?' Porthos muttered.

'I...' Athos swallowed, looking around him for something, anything, to unpick the locks. 'I'm thinking.' Was all he could say. He tried not to let his voice betray him, but he knew it already had. _How was he going to get them out of this?_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Please review!**

 **x**


	5. Chapter 5

Sunlight filtered steadily into the barn, casting a warm glow onto the cold floor as the men sat in silence, listening to bird songs skittering in the air. Aramis could not tell if many minutes had passed since the man in the red coat had left them, or whether it had been hours- time seemed to be working strangely here. His eyes fell to the ground up, dirty bread on the floor as his stomach grumbled; if was in reach he may have chanced a few bites, but alas it was in the middle of the room, and he legs could not reach that far.

He sighed to himself and drew his knees up to his chest; his eyes suddenly widened and his heart soared as he felt something beautifully familiar knock against his ankle bone.

'Guess what,chaps...' he whispered to the room at large, smiling ruefully at the three men in turn.

'I don't think this situation is really the best place for guessing games, Mis,' Athos muttered stoicly as he craned his neck for a better look around; the room was spars and held nothing that they could use as a weapon, to his great dissapointment.

'Check your boots,' Aramis replied, careful not to reveal too much- he didn't know if they were truly alone, or if someone was listening in.

Each man immediately moved their feet around in their boots- none of them could physically reach in with their hands, given that their arms were chained up, but their eyes all lit up when they felt the handles of their hidden blades dig into their ankles. They each smiled and nodded at Aramis as he sat back in a small cloud of relief. As least they weren't completely powerless-

The barn door opened again, crashing into the opposite wall and causing the men to jump slightly- Athos' eyes widened as he saw six large, burly men standing in the entrance, completely blocking the sunlight into the room.

'Well...' one of them muttered as they walked slowly into the room. 'Lets see what we've got this time...' this man seemed to be the leader- he was probably in his mid forties, with greying brown hair and a weathered, worn, face.

He surveyed each man in turn, and Porthos was vividly reminded of the cattle markets on a Saturday morning he'd used to go to when he was younger. One of the men even had a small scrap of paper and was making small notes as each man walked round the room, staring down at each musketeer in turn.

'This one seems capable...' he whispered to one of the men to his side, who nodded in a way that made Aramis feel very uncomfortable as they stood staring down at him. 'Strong physique...muscular chest, long legs... he could do well, yes.' The two men continued their checklist as they passed the medic and went round each of the other men, making small observations as they went.

'A good crop this year...'the man nodded, seemingly satisfied. 'When does it start?'

'Tonight.' A new, now horribly familiar voice cut into the men's verbatim. The man in the red coat was back, his face set in a hard look.

'Dad wants to talk to you all.' he said, voice direct.

'We're just making sure this year's...participants are of the correct calibre this time,' a man in the middle of the room said, smiling a little. 'Last year was so...lacklustre.'

Athos exchanged looks with Aramis across the room- this had happened before? Why had they not heard?

'What, they weren't good enough for you, hmm?' the man in the red coat sneered, his cheeks flushing slightly. D'Artagnan recognised warning signs of anger in him and prepared himself.

'They were...adequate.' the man nodded, to which the other men muttered in agreement.

'But servant boys and stable hands can only provide so much sport...now soldiers-musketeers, no less- well, they...they will do nicely, we think.'

The man in the red coat let out a breathy laugh and stood up straighter, eyes narrowing. 'The old man wants to see you. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.'

'Fine- when...?' the man gestured vagually around at the men on the floor.

'Sundown.'

'Fine.' the man nodded, before leading the rest of the men out of the barn, leaving the musketeers once again alone with the man in the red coat.

'Please,' Aramis began, trying his luck- as soon as he spoke he realised it was a mistake; the man turned his head to face him, his eyes narrowed. 'Lets just talk.'

'Quarry does not talk.'

'Look, you don't want to do th-'

' I said...' the man cried, striding over to the medic with danger in his eyes- in one swift movement he bent in front of him and punched him in the face. Aramis yelled and gasped loudly as he felt warm blood seep from his nose and down his chin.

'You. Don't. Talk.' the man curled his hand around Aramis' hair and yanked his head back, causing him to start choking on his own blood as he forced him to stare into his eyes. 'Are we clear?'

Aramis closed his eyes against the pain and nodded- 'Perfectly...'

The man smiled as he stood up; he looked at each man in turn, and he seemed pleased to see each man wore an expression of abject fury on their faces.

'Cheer up, Gents,' he said whimsically, 'Its nearly time to play!' he chuckled and turned away, walking towards the door and slamming it behind him.

Aramis groaned loudly as the noise of his footfalls on the gravel path outside started to fade away. He swore very loudly and spat a glob of blood onto the floor, before sitting back and closing his eyes against the pain in his nose.

'You ok, Mis?' Porthos asked, voice bristling in anger.

'I will be, my friend.' he replied, eyes still closed as his nose throbbed. They all stopped as they heard what sounded like a whole crowd of people outside- many voices could be heard walking the path outside the barn, before they disappeared seconds letter. D'Artagnan surmised they were going into the farmhouse.

Porthos growled under his breath and shook the chains that tethered him. 'If only we could get out of these chains we could-'

'Do what?' Athos muttered, he looked at the room at large.

'If we escape, where do we go? We're drastically outnumbered; we have no weapons apart from a small knife each. Each man out there knows the terrain so much better than us.'

'So what do you suggest?'Aramis asked, his blue eyes now standing out drastically from his pale face and blood-crusted nose and chin.

Athos took a deep breath. 'Those men said these "games" start at sundown. By the sound of it, they let us go...into the woods, into the open, and then they chase us down...' he looked across at D'Artagnan, who he could see was looking at him in panic; an almost childlike expression of fear. He felt it too, could barely stop it from bubbling to the surface, but he knew he had to remain calm...at least on the outside.

'Bloody hell...' Aramis sighed, screwing his face up. 'What the hell have we got ourselves into?!' he added, before shaking his chains in a desperate bid to break them.

'Mis, I know you're in pain, and we're all scared here, but I- we- cannot do this without you! Athos yelled above the noise.

'Sorry, sorry...' Aramis said, a flush creeping up his neck.'Just needed to get it out my system.'

'It's alright, no need to apologise.' Athos muttered, before turning to Porthos, who was nearest the window.

'How long until sundown, do you think?' he asked.

Porthos craned his neck, taking in the cloudly sky. 'Dunno, a few hours I'd reckon.'

''Ok...here's my plan. We play them at their own game. We go into those woods and we just run as fast as we can; we only fight if we have to. They've said it themselves- we're good prey because we have our training. They know this, and they're going to pull out all the stops to get us...we just have to be better.' Even as he spoke Athos' heart sank. What sort of plan was this?

'We have no other choice. We cannot do anything whilst chained up like dogs.' he continued, as if trying to justify himself and his idea of an escape. 'We're better off unshackled and in the wilderness.'

Aramis nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath. 'Its the best we've got.' He looked across at the Gascon, who had a pale tinge to his skin. 'You alright, lad?'

'No...but I'll get there,' he replied, giving him a small, foced smile.

'Good lad- I swear to you, we'll make sure nothing happens to you.' Each man nodded at the sentiment as D'artagnan chuckled lightly. 'Like guardian brothers, eh?'

'Exactly.' Athos nodded, before sighing. 'Now, and I know this is going to sound crazy, but we need to make sure we're ready for tonight. We need to sleep.'

Each musketeer nodded uneasily, and, despite every nerve and fibre in their bodies telling them not to, they lay awkwardly on the cold stone floor and closed their eyes, each of their hearts full of fear of what sundown would bring...

 **Writer's block is a cruel mistress- I'm sorry for being gone for so long! Please forgive me!**

 **Next chapter will be up soon!**

 **Happyday girl x**

 **Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

Night drew in far too quickly- Athos, who had slept for no more than an hour and had spent the remainder of the time they were supposed to be resting going through plans and actions in his head with his eyes fixed firmly on the door, wondered idly if their Captain, or any of their fellow Musketeers, had noticed they had not come back from their mission.

It surely couldn't have escaped them that they had not returned? Athos looked down at his shirt and sighed when he realised the contract was no longer stowed in his breast pocket.

He supposed that now, on top of everything else that had happened to them, that they would now be blamed for the loss of the contract; a punishment would surely be in order...that is if they survived the night's ordeal. He pushed the troubling thought from his mind with a shake of his head, as if physically trying to rid his head of the fear that had been accumulating there.

The barn was now in total darkness save for a small strip of moonlight that was shining through the barred window.

How long before the man in the red coat would come for them? Minutes? Hours? Athos did not know; all he knew was that they all had to be ready. He slowly straightened out his legs, circling his feet to stop the pins and needles that were ravaging his unused nerves.

He had to make sure the others were prepared- it was ludicrous just thinking about what was about to happen, but they could not afford to not take it seriously. These people were preparing to hunt them down and presumably kill them afterwards; they had to be just as ruthtless now if they even hoped to survive.

He looked up as he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye; Aramis stirred and sat up, rubbing bleary eyes. Athos could see even in this dank light that his friend was pale- there was no witty remark as he saw Athos was awake too; merely a small smile and a slight incline of his head before he sat back against the wall and rested his head against the cool surface.

'Should we wake Porthos and D'artagnan?' he muttered.

Athos nodded, 'we need to make sure we're all ready...' he said with a sigh.

Aramis looked across at him, and Athos was reminded vividly of the young man he had first met many years ago, just after Savoy...his eyes had been filled with fear then, trying to find danger in every corner. 'Do you think Treville is looking for us?' the medic asked, trying to keep his voice even.

'I am sure of it,' Athos reassured him with what he hoped was a calming smile. Aramis nodded slowly, as if satisfied with this answer. He turned to D'artagnan and shot him a low whistle- two short, sharp blasts. It was their code if anything happened in the night on a mission and they needed to prepare to fight.

The Gascon woke at once, eyes wide as they shot to the door- he relaxed a little as he saw no one but themselves were in the room. 'Morning...' he muttered, wiping a hand down his face.

'Not morning,' Aramis corrected him. 'About midnight, I'd wager,'

'Oh.'

'We just wanted to make sure we're all ready for whatever is about to come,'

'Yeah, good idea...' the younger man nodded, before he looked across at Porthos. 'Shall I wake him up?'

'Please,' Athos nodded- they all looked up as they heard heavy footfalls on the gravel path outside. Porthos woke just as the doors slammed open. The man in the red coat was stood in the doorway, his face illuminated by a lantern he held up high- Aramis peered through the gloom and could see many shadowy figures behind him; his flesh crawled at the sight and he sat up straighter as the man walked in further, leading what must have been twenty men into the barn.

'Gents- meet tonight's quarry!' he called above the noise as the men all started muttering as they stopped in a semi-circle around the men on the floor. 'Soldiers- musketeers, no less. Impressive physiques, and unparalleled cunning and logic, I'd wager too!' he chuckled as there was a sudden expression of interest.

'So- shall we bet per man, or as a group?'

'There's four of 'em!' one man shouted- Athos saw he had a gun half cocked on his shoulder, and possessed what he guessed was around four teeth. 'How about we split 'em in 'alf?'

'Two against two?' the man in the red coat thought this over. 'That could be interesting... we only have tonight, so both sets must go at the same time.'

Aramis closed his eyes briefly as a sick feeling enveloped him; these men were seriously talking about this?

'We can't make it too easy for them!' another man yelled, his voice gruff. 'You said they were soldiers! That makes 'em harder to catch!'

'Afraid of a challenge, are we Pierre?' A man standing near him growled, before turning to the front.

'Lets get on it with!'

'Money, gentleman- is to be left in the bucket by the door on your way out,' the man in the red coat ordered, before he turned to the Musketeers on the floor. 'Now, we usually do allow head starts- we don't want to spoil our fun by catching you right away!' there was a cacophony of sniggers from the crowd behind him.

'Since we're doing this the proper way this time- Freddy!' he called. A huge, lumbering man with evil in his eyes walked to the front. D'artagnan looked up, wide eyed, as this man looked at each of them in turn, before finally walking over to Aramis.

The medic internally tensed as the man grabbed hold of the chain that attached him to the wall and wrenched it entirely from the stone wall. He then grasped Aramis by the shoulder and forced him into a standing position. 'This one,' he growled, voice deep and laced with what Athos could only describe as a violent tone.

'Very well.' The man in the red coat nodded. He produced a small revolver from his pocket and walked over to Aramis- each man tensed as he placed the gun to Aramis' temple.

'Put the gun down...' Athos muttered, heart in his mouth.

'Gentleman- go and take your positions. You start when you hear my gun.' Athos watched, wide eyed, as each man duly trooped out- they heard the ominous noises of gun's being cocked, the jingle of ammunition and the sharp sound of blades being unsheathed. Only one man stayed- Freddy, the man who had picked out Aramis. He was stood behind the other man, arms crossed against his massive chest.

'Now...how should we make this more...interesting?' the man in the read coat mused, whistling tunelessly as he looked at each man in turn.

'Well, for starters- Freddy...get the handcuffs.'

Aramis tensed as he heard Freddy trudge over to a room to the side of the barn- now was his chance. He caught Athos' eye, tried to convey what he was about to do- even with a gun to his temple, he knew he had to do something, anything, to stop this madness from happening.'

He waited two or three beats, before twisting suddenly and grasping the gun with both hands, wrenching it away from his face to the barn floor. The other man was caught entirely by surprise and was almost knocked to the floor with the momentum; seconds later, however, he had regained it. He was smaller than Aramis, and quicker than the medic had anticipated; they grappled with each other for the gun, trying to overbalance themselves in the process.

Aramis threw himself forwards and headbutted the man, sending him backwards a few paces as blood spurted from his nose; he quickly followed this up with a foot to the stomach, his hands still tightly grasped the weapon between them.

Each of the men on the floor struggled fruitlessly against their chains- they simply could not wrench them from the wall the way Freddy had done.

D'artagnan suddenly noticed a shadow behind the two fighting men- 'Aramis, look out!' he yelled out in warning as Freddy lumbered towards them.

Seconds later Aramis felt a sickening pain in his shoulder as the man slapped a muscular hand on it, almost crushing his collar bone in the process; he felt the breath leave him as he was then grabbed tight around the middle and hauled off his feet. He struggled for breath as Freddy slowly began to squeeze...

'No! Leave him!' The man in the red coat yelled from the floor-he staunched the bloodflow from his nose with a handkerchief and staggered to his feet. Freddy dropped the musketeer to the floor, where he fell to his knees, coughing and retching.

'Well, we've got a figher!' the man manically laughed as he placed a booted foot on Aramis' side and kicked- the medic fell to the floor with a groan as fought to breathe normally. 'I like the spirit!' he added, before his voice grew serious. 'I know exactly what to do with you...' he muttered, before he motioned to Freddy to go over to the other musketeers.

'I want the biggun and the younger one together...' he instructed. 'Let the other one go with the fighter.'

Porthos looked up, his eyes narrowed in anger as Freddy walked towards him. 'Oh, and don't forget-' the other man muttered, producing his revolver again and pressing it against Aramis' chin. '-I've still got this!

Porthos had never felt so hopless- he could easily take this man down as soon as his chains were released, but knew it would cost Aramis his life if he did so. He had no choice but to comply as his chains were removed and a handcuff was locked on his left wrist.

Seconds later and d'artagnan was placed in the next shackle, tying them both together. 'Stand up,' Freddy growled- they staggered uncomfortably to their feet.

'Excellent...' The man in the red coat beamed. 'Now, will you do the honours, Freddy?'

'With pleasure,' Freddy grinned sadistically. Suddenly, he grasped d'artagnan's left hand- he wrenched the little finger backwards with such force the crack of the bone breaking was loud enough to echo. The Gascon's eyes widened and he made a guttural choking noise as Freddy dropped his hand. 'D'artagnan!' Aramis cried out, before the gun was lodged against his temple- 'one more word and I pull it, understand?' the man holding it growled.

Tears sprung in the medic's eyes as D'artagnan almost buckled to the floor- he clutched at his hand with the one attached to the handcuff, his face bereft of all colour now; seconds later he sucked in a deep breath and stood up straighter than before, a determined look in his eyes as he stared out Freddy, his eyes dark. Pride almost overwhelmed him then; the Gascon was a Musketeer through and through, he thought.

'They're ready.' Freddy muttered, chuckling. 'Now this one?' he pointed to Athos, who was now shaking with anger as he looked across to their youngest member.

The other man nodded, and soon Athos too was wrenched to his feet, and a handcuff encircled his wrist; Freddy turned to the other man, as if asking what to do next.

'Send those two out first,' the man in the red coat instructed. 'Give them two rounds of hunting.'

'Will do.' Freddy nodded, pushing Porthos in the back to get them both to move. Both men looked from Athos to Aramis- Athos nodded, whilst Aramis could only offer a small smile before his eyes, full of fear, betrayed them. He prayed this wouldn't be the last time they looked at each other.

Porthos took one deep breath and allowed himself to be moved onwards. The door slammed behind them-there was a few moments of silence before there was a loud sound of a gunshot; Athos almost retched as heard whoops and yells suddenly permeate the air, and the sound of men moving thundered in their ears.

'Now, you two... lets get you ready, shall we?' the man in the red coat muttered with a sardonic smile.

Athos licked dry lips and tried to quell his shaking legs as he stepped forwards. 'I implore you to reconsider,' he started, trying to remain as calm and as measured as possible as the man stepped back with a chuckle, as if he had been expecting this.

'We are musketeers, as you know- the full regiment will be looking for us, I guarantee it,' Athos continued, still very aware of the revolver lodged under Aramis' chin; their eyes met for a split second as Athos turned to look at the other man. 'If you let us go- if you call off those other people from our friends outside- we will say nothing and just leave.'

'Really?' the man in the red coat muttered, a grin on his face. 'Wow. Usually, when we get to this point, the real nitty gritty...people normally just spend their time crying, pleading, that sort of thing...' he sighed widely and shook his head with a laugh.

'You city people- you understand nothing of tradition. Of culture.'

'This is not culture, this is barbaric!' Aramis hissed from beside him. 'You are nothing but a group of murderous criminals!'

'It has been this way for decades here,' the man chuckled, running a hand through his dirty hair as he sucked in a deep breath. 'The duty passed from my grandfather, to my father and now to me.'

'You can be the one to break that chain!' Athos muttered, hoping they still had a chance. 'To stop this madness!'

'Why?'

'B-because it's wrong!'Athos cried, shaking his head. 'Hunting humans for sport?! It's lunacy!'

'Maybe to you city folk-'

'To all folk, I can assure you!' Aramis growled.

The man laughed darkly and shook his head, before turning slightly as Freddy stepped back inside the barn. 'But you're forgetting one important thing...'

'What's that?' Athos asked, voice dark now.

'We wouldn't be doing this if we didn't like it.'

Athos said nothing; he swallowed hard and looked away. There was no more reasoning to be done now, he could see that plainly.

'Right, Freddy- lets get them ready...' the man in the red coat said, his voice now light and excitable; the tone almost made Aramis retch as he was roughly pushed next to Athos.

'Now, which one shall it be...the fighter, or the talker?'

Freddy siged as he mulled over this seemingly very important choice. 'The talker,' he finally said with a decisive nod of his head.

'No!'Aramis cried immediately as the man in the red coat stepped forwards. 'Whatever you plan to do, do it to me, not him!' he added, stepping bodily in front of Athos.

'How heroic!' the man chuckled. 'But I think not...' he nodded to Freddy as he aimed the gun at Aramis' chest. 'Move back.'

'Please! Please don't do this!'

'Here comes the pleading...' The man chuckled, yet the gun never wavered for a second. 'You have two seconds to move or this ends before it has even begun.'

Aramis shook his head, hardly beleiving his ears, yet he silently, slowly, moved a little way backwards, 'If you hurt him I swear to God I will kill you...' he whispered, voice dripping with hatred.

'We're not going to hurt him...just- make things harder for you both. As you keep saying...you are musketeers after all, right?' the man said, before Freddy stepped forwards. Before either Aramis or Athos could move or even speak, the burly man had lunged for Athos, bringing his arm swiftly up into his stomach. Aramis lurched forwards as Athos' eyes bulged and his hands shot to his abdomen.

'STAY BACK!' the other man yelled, pressing the gun to Aramis' now shaking head as Freddy stepped back with a smile.

Each man looked down at what had happened; a small knife was buried to the hilt in Athos' lower abdomen.

'Very neat!' The man in the red coat congratulated Freddy, who inclined his head with a grin. 'That'll slow him down!

'Won't bleed out for hours, but it's as painful as a gunshot wound...' he muttered, admiring his own handiwork as Athos gripped the blade handle with white fingers. 'I'veleft the blade in. Makes it hurt more, but he won't start bleeding for another few minutes.' he added.

The Musketeers looked at each other- Aramis, eyes wide and mouth gaped open in horror, could not move to help his friend as he still had the gun pressed to his head; he looked across at their captors, eyes filled with hatred.

'Mark my words- we will survive this, and when we do I will come back here and I will kill you both!' he promised, his teeth chattering as adrenaline and anger filled his heart.

' _If_ you survive this,' the man corrected, before clapping his hands. 'Handcuff them together, Freddy, and we can finally begin. Hopefully you're friends are not already dead!' he laughed.

Freddy stepped forwards and pulled Athos' hand away from the knife before tethering him to Aramis. Now Aramis could be of use; Athos immediately leaned a little closer, trying to breath normally.

'Lets go, shall we?' Freddy muttered, roughly pushing them both forwards and out of the door. The forest outside was deathly quiet and bitterly cold-a low hanging fog was filtering slowly through the midnight gloom like a spectre , the air tinged orange from the numerous lanterns hung on branches and walls as the four men stood outside. The only noise was the occasional hooting of an owl in the forest beyond the gravel path and the houses to their side.

'You have two minutes and then I send them after you.' Freddy instructed.

Aramis turned as the two men laughed again. 'You will regret this night.' he said simply, venomously, his eyes alight with fury.

The revolver was once again placed against his forehead. 'You're lucky you're not already dead.' the man in the red coat replied. 'I'd get going if I were you...you're time will soon run out.'

'Lets go, Mis,' Athos muttered, trying to forget the pain flourishing in his stomach. It had to be sorted out, but not yet.

Aramis growled out in frustration and near-hysteria as he nodded and the two of them began running...they headed into the forest, as deep as they could so as to lose their pursuers. They looked left and right as they tore past bushes and trees; Athos tripped on a root and almost fell. He cried out in pain as his stomach jarred.

'We just need to get away from here, then I can help you, I promise...' Aramis whispered, hating himself every second that he couldn't help.

They took a couple of corners and ran through the undergrowth, anything to hide them- where were D'artagnan and Porthos? Had they been captured? If so, what was happening to them? Tears pricked Aramis' eyes once more as he pushed the thought from his mind as they ran.

Seconds later there was a loud, jarring gunshot in the distance behind them. The two men looked at each other, real fear in their eyes as they renewed their running, Athos already putting most of his weight on Aramis as the blade dug into his skin.

Their head start was up- they were coming.

 **I hope you liked this extra long chapter! Now the set up is all done, the real story begins- don't worry, there is lots more that I plan to do with this ^^**

 **Please review, I'd love to know what you think!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

Porthos looked round fervently as he and D'Artagnan jumped over a dead trunk of a tree on the forest floor; his wrist throbbed and stung as the tight metal of the handcuff dug into his skin.

'Stop, stop a minute...' he muttered, breathing heavily as he flung out a hand to stop the Gascon.

'Why?' D'Artagnan replied with wide eyes. 'We need to keep going, we need to-'

'Assess our situation is what we need to do!' Porthos snapped, before softening and looking round, eyes scanning the almost pitch-black forest; all they had for light was the full moon floating above their heads, which meant it occasionally was blocked out by the high canopy of trees.

They could only hear silence, which Porthos did not know whether to take as a good or bad sign. Did that mean they were being stalked, like common game, or that they had already lost their tormentors? He hoped it was the latter. Looking around he could see that they were already deep into the forest, and he knew forests in these parts of the country could go on for miles without civilisation.

Where was the nearest town? Where was the nearest road? He just didn't know. All they could do was keep low and keep moving forwards.

'We need to find a town, or even just a house...' he whispered, before he and the younger man ducked back into the thick forest and continued their running into the darkness.

'How's your finger?' he whispered to him as they tried not to break any twigs or branch as they clambered over a muddy bank and into a copse of thick trees.

'Sore, but it's not my finger I'm worried about...' the Gascon replied, nodding his head down to his shoulder- Porthos could see the white bandage that protected his gun shot wound was now dark crimson and flecked with mud. 'We need to look at that,' he whispered, before looking into d'artagnan's face as the moon made another appearance through the trees- his face was shining with sweat and white as a sheet.

'Later, we need to g-' The Gascon stopped mid-sentence as they heard a shout from behind them, followed by the sound of a blade being unsheathed; the sound made the hairs on Porthos' head stand on end. He flung out a hand and pushed D'Artagnan against the tree they were standing in front of before doing the same; the handcuffs made it much harder to manoeuvre their bodies as they were tethered together; he could feel blood slipping down the back of his hand as the metal cut against his skin again.

'Shh...' he whispered, eyes wide as he scanned the dark horizon of the forest.

D'Artagnan swallowed and tried to quell the panic in his chest as he turned his head to the left. His heart leapt as he saw a small ball of orange, flickering light in the distance; a lantern.

'We have to move!' he muttered urgently; the light was heading straight for them, and it wouldn't be long before they would be seen. 'The other side of the tree...' he added- together they managed to move themselves around the large tree trunk until they were out of sight.

Both men held their breaths as they heard the crackling of branches and bracken on the forest floor being snapped underfoot- each sound made D'Artagnan more and more nervous; every noise made his nerves fire in fear and anticipation.

Silence now. They had stopped. Probably looking around, Porthos wagered. He hoped they weren't one of those hunters that could tell the scent of something just by sniffing the breeze. Neither of them smelt particularly fragrant after their days in captivity, after all.

The seconds trickled by painfully as still there was silence- D'Artagnan wondered whether they had merely not heard the man walk away; surely they should have moved by now?

He could feel Porthos was tense and ready behind him- he desperately wanted to move a little and see where the man was, but knew the sound of the handcuff tinkling would bring the man straight to them if they had not moved away.

An owl hooted overhead and the moon ducked back into the trees above, casting the forest below into darkness; Porthos withheld the sudden intense urge to sneeze and chanced a look around the three trunk- with a sudden yell in surprise he threw himself backward as an axe embedded itself into the wood where his head had just been.

The force of Porthos moving caused D'Artagnan to lose balance, and as a result both men fell heavily onto the forest floor as they heard manically laughter from above them.

'I FOUND 'EM!' the man screeched with a horrible, excited laugh- D'Artagnan could see he was a man in his mid-fifties, with greying hair and a small, wiry body. He laughed again as he raised his axe for a killing blow; as the blade fell Porthos only just managed to move himself out of the way; he heard D'Artagnan cry out in pain as he was forced to lean heavily onto his shoulder as he go out of the way of the blade- both men scrabbled to the left again as the man wrenched the axe from the muddy ground and prepared for another blow. With an angry cry Porthos heaved himself upwards and flew forwards, catching the man around the middle, pushing him off his feet and onto the hard ground.

d'artagnan's arm was nearly pulled out of his socket as he too was wrenched forwards alongside Porthos and he had to slam his other hand onto the ground to stop himself from toppling over again; his broken finger hit the floor and burst into an agonising cloud of pain, but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he desperately looked round for any kind of weapon to protect Porthos, who was now grappling with the man.

The man with the axe gasped as the air was pushed out of him but was soon back in fighting form- he launched forwards and headbutted Porthos- the bigger man cried out in pain and retaliated by punching him in the jaw before he looked round in panic- He knew they still had to be quiet; there were many more men in these woods, and didn't really fancy drawing them all over to them. The other man got his arm free and punched Porthos in the mouth twice in quick succession before Porthos managed to get a hold of it and try and hold it back.

The man kicked out as he tried to throw Porthos off him; his arms scratched his forearms and hands as Porthos applied more pressure to his chest to keep him down; another punch to his face from the musketeer and the man's head finally sank to the floor, gasping and coughing wetly as blood flowed from his nose and into his mouth.

'Y-you going to kill me?' he gurgled, his eye already bruising and swelling as Porthos sat up, breathing heavily. D'Artagnan scrambled to Porthos' side as the two of them grappled with their consciences.

'Musketeers don't kill people!' the man added with a wet laugh.

Porthos didn't know what to do- for one, the bastard was right; it wasn't their job to kill people. Deep down he wanted these men to answer for their crimes here; he wanted them to pay for what they had done.

But then...did this man deserve life, when he was more than willing to take it away from wholly innocent people? How many others had suffered at his hands? Twenty, thirty, more? How many more would suffer?

'That's what I thought...' he muttered, before in a split second he took the Musketeers's moment of deliberation to reach into his pocket and pull out a small gun; D'artagnan immediately grabbed the man's hand to pull the gun away from Porthos. The two men struggled as Porthos moved off the man to try and help the younger Gascon.

Suddenly there was a deafening bang and a blinding flash of light- the man went rigid under D'artagnan's arms and his hands went limp, before they hit the forest floor.

The man's eyes rolled backwards until they faced the forest floor; moonlight illuminated the scene as the musketeer's sat back, breathing heavily. A pool of blood was slowly flowling from a wound in the man's chest. The gun fell from D'artagnan's hand onto the floor as the young man stared into the dead face of their hunter.

'We have to go.' Porthos growled as he slowly stood up, gently pulling D'artagnan to his feet too. 'They would have heard that and will come running...' he added, before bending downand picking up the man's gun. 'I'll keep this...' he muttered, pocketing it as he looked around.

'Come on, we've got to get out of here!' he said again. The Gascon nodded, swallowing.

'I killed him,' he muttered as they ran back into the undergrowth and through the forest once more.

'It was kill or be killed, kid,' Porthos corrected. 'You saved my life back there- I'm proud of you,' he added with a smile. 'Now shh, we gotta get as far from here as possible and maybe find a house...I need to take a look at your shoulder.' He instructed.

They both couldn't help but stop dead as they heard another succession of gunshots, followed by shouts and jeers from somewhere in the distance to their right.

'Aramis...' Porthos whispered in dread, panic once again hitting the pit of his stomach. 'Athos.'

The two men looked at each other before they ducked back into the forest, blending into the darkness of the forest as they picked their way through the undergrowth.

'Should we go and find them?' D'artagnan said in a hushed tone- his shoulder flourished in pain again and he felt fresh blood soak his bandage, but all he could think about was their friends.

'We need to find help first and sort you out,' Porthos replied, hating himself for every word-he wanted nothing more than to rush in and save his brothers, but he knew they had to find help if they could, otherwise d'Artagnan would probably not survive another ambush.

Athos and Aramis was capable fighters, of that he had no doubt, and he knew that if they could find help, or even a decent weapon to defend themselves, then they all would stand a much better chance. One bullet would not be enough to save them, he knew- once they had this then they would go back and help their friends. They themselves were also not out of danger; he looked round as he scanned the forest again for more men; they had to do something to even the odds of them making it out of the night alive.

He tried to push the thought of his brothers in peril into the back of his mind as they ran deeper into the forest, and into the unknown of the dark forest.

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **I'm going to be doing alternating chapters for each twosome until their stories link up again, so the next chapter will be Athos and Aramis. I will also be going back and exploring the bad guys, so there is still a lot to come ^^ Oh, and more whump to come, too! :)**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**

 **Happyday girl x**


	8. Chapter 8

'Aramis, why are you s-slowing down?' Athos muttered as his friend slowed his pace as they ducked into a small thick copse of oak trees; the scant moonlight was instantly puttered out entirely as they disappeared into the undergrowth. 'We can't slow down...'

'I need to check your wound, Athos,' Aramis whispered, before he cursed as the handcuff cut into his wrist as he began tending to the knife still lodged in his friend's abdomen.

'It doesn't matter, we-'

'Athos if I don't sort this out now you will not survive the night.' Aramis said firmly, looking at him with such a serious and commanding expression that Athos could do no more than sit back uncomfortably and nod. 'Be quick then,' he instead said, looking round anxiously as Aramis quickly got to work.

It was quite awkward to do any sort of assessment on the wound, as as soon as Aramis moved both hands he had to contend with Athos' hand coming along as well, getting in the way as he tried to look at the damage.

He felt his pulse quicken as panic started saturating his veins; he knew he had to be quick, but shoddy work would not do Athos any good.

'How bad?' he heard his friend whisper, before he hitched in a breath as Aramis gently tried manoeuvring the blade in his abdomen.

'It...it's not good, my friend,' he whispered truthfully, sitting back and wiping bloody hands on his trousers. 'I do not want to remove the knife...if I do you'll start bleeding out. I don't have the resources right now to stitch up the wound to stop you from bleeding to death.'

'So, on a scale of one to ten...about a six?' Athos tried to joke before he gritted his teeth and breathed out a moan of pain as his abdomen flourished in pain.

'About that, yes,' Aramis chuckled quietly, swallowing hard as he looked across at his friend. He patted down his pockets, hoping he had something that could stop the blade from moving around and to quell the inevitable bleeding that would soon happen.

His heart soared as he felt a small swatch of bandage in his back pocket- he quickly fixed it around the knife so it stoppered its movements; he tried to ignore Athos' protests of pain as he did so, quietly hushing him when he became too loud.

'It's over, I'm done,' he finally said, looking at his work with some distaste. 'Once we have some decent supplies I will fix it properly.' he promised as he sat on his haunches and looked around.

The bit of forest they were in was very thick, with trees seemingly fighting for space in such a small area; the issue was that even though they were lucky that their hunters could do see them...they could not see if they were being pursued.

If Athos wasn't as badly injured as he was, Aramis would have suggested they hunkered down here for the night; they seemed to be safe from their pursuers. He looked down at his friend, could see his pale face even in the near minimal light. He needed help, and fast.

'Come on, Athos,' he whispered, reaching over and putting a hand on his shoulder, anxiety rising as he felt him shaking under his touch. 'We need to find a house, or a road, or anything.'

'W-what about Porthos...D'Artagnan?' Athos replied as he awkwardly clambered to his feet. 'We have to find them.'

'We will not leave them behind,' Aramis promised, swallowing hard as his thoughts turned to the plight of their friends before he forced himself to stop.'We need to get you treated first, alright?'

'But I-' Athos stopped mid sentence as the worst, most terrifying noise imaginable reached their ears from the darkness outside. Snarling. Growling. Baying.

'Dear God...' Aramis whispered, before he twisted a hand into Athos' coat sleeve protectively, mind whirring as men's voices now accompanied the frenzied barking of the hounds. They still sounded far away, but he knew it wouldn't be long until they caught their scent.

'We need to go, we need to go now...' he muttered, pushing Athos in the small of the back to get him to move.

'Go without me, I will just slow you down...' Athos replied, gritting his teeth as his wound flared in agony again; he had to compensate for the pain and limited movement by limping, and he was already beginning to tire.

'I have two issues with that, my friend...' Aramis whispered, before looking round and listening intently. Still they seemed a way off, so they continued pushing through the undergrowth, trying not to walk on any branches or twigs that could give away their position.

'One, you know how much I hate hero talk... and secondly-' he lifted up his hand, jingling the handcuff that tethered them together. 'I really think we're in this together!'

'I suppose you are r-right there...' Athos conceded, before he stopped as a close bark, deafeningly close, reached their ears. The two of them backed up, pushing themselves into a large, thorny bush as a man's voice accompanied it.

They pushed further into it, ignoring the thorns catching their faces and digging into their backs and hands before they finally felt a tree behind them; they could hardly see the forest floor outside- they hoped that would be enough to stop the dog from getting in.

'You found 'em, boy?' the man growled, a large glass lamp in his hand as he looked round. He stepped closer to the bush, struggling to contain the dog as he pulled on a thick rope lead.

'Go on, fetch 'em, boy!' he encouraged as the dog barked uncontrollably. Athos felt Aramis tense beside him- he knew he wasn't too keen on dogs at the best of times; they both stopped breathing as the dog finally seemed to catch their scent. It began renewing its huge energy and pulled strongly on the rope that the man was holding.

'Oh, I think he's got 'summit!' the man yelled into the darkness, laughing and whooping as the dog pulled him closer to the bush.

'You found 'em, did ya?' he shouted above the din his dog was making- Aramis heard the noise of men shouting from even further behind the man with the dog.

'Please, no more... ' he whispered in dread.

'They're in the bush!' they heard the man yell to the men who had now joined them. There was a rumble of noise as they all talked over each other. Athos guessed about three or four men had now joined the man with the dog.

'Well, let the dog off- he can get 'em for us!' one man's voice yelled above the others, to lots of noise of agreement.

'What, and have 'im get stuck in all them thorns?' the dog's owner protested. Athos almost chuckled out loud- this man was happy enough to hunt men, but grew a conscience when it came to the welfare of his dog in a thorny bush?

'Enough of this- we'll do it this way!' another man yelled, before there was a small silence, a yelp of protest from the owner of the dog as something was seemingly taken from him, and then another flare of agreement and chuckling.

The two musketeers looked at each other- Athos could see Aramis' hands and legs were now shaking, but with cold, fear or anticipation, he did not know.

Seconds later, they knew what had just happened.

The sound of glass smashing was their first clue- an eruption of orange flickering and intense heat cemented it.

'Merde-' Aramis gasped, eyes wide in fear as they saw flames licking the bush ahead of them- any second and it would spread to where they were now sat. 'Move, Athos, move! He cried, pushing Athos to the right and into another section of the thorny bush.

Athos tried not to growl out in pain as thorns slashed and dug into his cheeks, but it was hard to stop the noises of pain escaping him.

They were now bent double as they desperately scrabbled forwards, trying to escape the flames behind them; both men's wrists were on fire as they had to work around the handcuff, too.

'Keep going, keep going...' Aramis muttered, looking behind him with wide eyes- smoke was now filtering through the bush; every so often they saw a new flare of orange, indicating other lamps where being thrown at different places in the undergrowth to try and smoke them out.

'This is insane, this is insane...' he jabbered to himself as he turned back, before he brushed a large thorny branch out of his face, cursing in pain as he felt blood start to trickle down his chin.

Athos coughed as the smoke now started enveloping them both, followed by heat- surely they were nearly at the end of this blasted thorn bush now?! He thought to himself in panic.

Finally, mercifully, he saw moonlight up ahead- he renewed his efforts, adrenaline now taking over as he tore, on his hands and knees, to the end of the blazing bush.

Both men tumbled out amid a cloud of acrid smoke, the last of the thorns digging into their faces as they immediately scrabbled to their feet- 'Run Athos, go!' Aramis cried, before they began running; he did not even look behind them as they desperately ran for their lives, breathing erratically and suppressing urges to yell for help. It wasn't quick enough.

Athos yelled as he was thrown sideways onto the muddy ground, before he realised it wasn't him who had been attacked; it was Aramis. One of the men had grabbed him around the middle, bringing both Musketeers to the ground, and was now straddling him in the muddy, sodden ground, punching and kicking any part of him that he could lay his hands to- Aramis cried out in pain as he was punched in the side of his head, before another punch landed on his nose.

Athos roared out in anger and, despite the immense pain in his side, threw himself onto the man and knocked him off guard, sending him sprawling into the mud.

Aramis yelled out as the hand that tethered him to Athos was wrenched to the side, forcing him to move with the two fighting men as Athos protected him.

His mind snapped back to their evening in the barn, and his eyes widened as he remembered what he had found in his boot... he looked up as he heard Athos cry out in pain, before a horrible choking noise filled his ears.

'No!' Aramis yelled, using his shoulder to stop the man from throttling Athos - the man turned and headbutted the medic; stars erupted in his eyes and he was momentarily thrown to the floor, his head hitting and resting on Athos' leg as he lay there, dazed and teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Athos desperately scrabbled for purchase on the muddy ground as the man now focused his attention on him; again two hands wound their way around his neck and began to squeeze.

'Oh I love this part...' he breathed, laughing as Athos' eyes bulged and he began gasping and choking for breath, his heels kicking up mounds of earth as he tried to get some solid ground to fight back.

'I was 'sposed to wait for the others to come, but this is just too good to pass up!' he added, face now straining as he squeezed tightly. Athos felt himself weaken, could see the edges of his vision starting to grey... his eyes rolled up as his one good hand scrabbled weakly at the man's weathered, strong hands.

Suddenly the pressure eased, although he could hardly draw in any sort of breath as he lay on the muddy ground, stunned. The man who had been strangling him sat bolt upright, eyes bulging and mouth gaping open in a yell of pain as his eyes swivelled to his side; Aramis growled as he tore out the blade he had managed to prise from his boot from the man's side, before plunging it back into his flesh, making the man scream again.

The Musketeer pushed the man to the side as he fell still, before he crawled to Athos' side- seconds later and he yelled out in pain as he felt teeth embed themselves into his forearm, pulling him sideways; his world was suddenly a whir of black fur and yellow, huge teeth. He scrabbled at the dog as it tried to tear his arm off; he felt blood rush down his arms as the teeth got a better purchase.

He looked to the side, saw the man he had just killed had a pistol attached to a belt- he dove for it, screaming out as the dog snarled and snapped it's jaws again. There was a blinding flash and the world suddenly went silent as Aramis, sprawled on his chest as he reached for the gun, awkwardly turned and shot the dog, sending it, silent and still, to the muddy ground.

He immediately knelt up, shaking and groaning in pain, as he heard shouts and yells from behind them- he pressed the trigger again, again, again, into the men, aiming for their legs at first- he was no monster and nothing would invite the devil into him, not even this.

The situation changed as there was a return of fire- the bullet hit the soft mud next to Athos's head; another ricocheted off the tree behind them.

This was war now, Aramis told himself. It was be killed or kill- he aimed higher now, catching the men in the abdomens and chests.

Finally, the last man tumbled to the sodden ground- there was silence in the woods now, eerie and haunting.

Rain pattered onto his coat as Aramis sat back with a dazed expression on his face as he looked around, trying to ignore similarities between the scene before him and a scene from his past. He pushed the thought back to the back of his mind as he heard moaning from his side.

'Athos...' he whispered, kneeling down next to his brother and brushing his sodden, mud-encrusted hair from his face. 'Athos, come on, talk to me...' he muttered, worry spearing his chest as Athos merely lay there in the rain, his breathing shallow. He loosened his coat around his throat, hoping to invite more into his lungs.

'Come on, breathe...breathe...'he coaxed. The seconds trickled past, and slowly, slowly, Athos began to breathe normally. Aramis sat back, crossed himself and closed his eyes, a tear escaping from his eye as he looked back at his friend.

'Thought I'd lost you there, my friend,' he muttered, voice hitching as he helped Athos into a sitting position, before enveloping him in an embrace.

'Lose me?' Athos' voice was deep and pained, and he coughed into Aramis' ear as he sank into the hug. 'Never.'

Aramis nodded and chuckled wetly, before he pulled himself away. 'We need to get out of here.' he muttered, looking around at the corpses littering the forest floor. His forearms were ablaze with pain and wet with crimson; he did not want to even look at the damage the dog had caused.

'Good...idea...' Athos nodded, before they both stood. 'Let's be more prepared now, shall we?' he added, before motioning the dead; they would have no need of their weapons now.

After they had loaded their pockets Aramis took up a small pistol, looking it over. 'What's t-that for?' Athos asked, coughing and massaging his throat.

Aramis said nothing-he just lifted up his manacled hand as an answer. Athos looked at his friend.

'If you shoot my hand off I will be very upset with you.' he dead-panned, noting the smile Aramis gave him in return with relief.

They knelt on the sodden grass, their arms stretched out between them, the thick steel of the handcuff taut and rigid.

'What about ricochet?' Aramis asked, suddenly nervous. He looked around, looking for something to solve the problem; the solution came in the form of a dead man's thick, leather coat.

Aramis was certainly no expert, and had never done this before...he could only pray this worked. He folded the coat and put it on top of the handcuff chain, looking at Athos with raised eyebrows.

'Here goes nothing...' he warned, before breathing in deeply and steadying himself despite his pounding head.

Athos looked away, just in case the metal broke apart with the force of the bullet and found their way into his face from under the coat.

Aramis counted to three, steeling himself- on three he pulled the trigger, unloading the chamber to make sure it worked. The noise was deafening, but their hands sprang apart and they fell backwards onto their haunches; they looked at each other, chuckling despite themselves that it had actually worked.

'Come on,' Aramis stood up on shaking legs, his head felt heavy as lead and his whole body ached, but he could only guess Athos felt worse.

He walked over to the dead bodies scattered around, before he knelt beside two that had the same height and build of himself and Athos- quickly he removed their coats, shrugged his own Musketeer cloak off and dropped it to the ground, and pulled on the dirty coat, wrinkling his nose.

'Might help us get away?' he muttered, passing one to Athos as he came up to him.

'Good idea,' he nodded, doing the same as Aramis; he felt a pang of sadness as his blue Musketeer coat fell to the muddy forest floor.

'Let's get out of here.' Aramis muttered, a few seconds later. 'I don't think we got all of them.' he added, nodding to the dead men behind them.

Athos nodded in reply, massaging his wrist as he limped over to the medic; Aramis wound an arm around his shoulder, letting him put some weight on him as they began walking down the muddy lane, hoping it would lead to shelter, help, or Porthos and D'Artagnan.

 **Well, that was probably the most intense chapter of any fic I've ever done- I hope you enjoyed :)**

 **Please review, I'd love to know your thoughts!**

 **Next chapter up soon! X**


	9. Chapter 9

The rain hammered down onto the forest floor, causing D'artagnan to slip and skid across a small patch of mud as he and Porthos made their way down a steep hill; he teetered on one foot, a small exclamation of surprise escaping him as he felt his shoulder jar as he fought to keep himself upright- a large hand grabbed him by the back of his coat and hauled him upwards and pushed him onto the edge of the muddy path where there was more purchase from the mud.

'Thanks,' he muttered as Porthos wiped a hand down his muddy face, eyes narrowed in concentration as they picked their way down the sodden path.

'S'alright...' the bigger man replied, before he massaged his wrist as the metal cut into it again. 'Wish we could get this blasted thing off!' he cursed quietly, before he stopped and looked around.

D'artagnan held his breath as they both ducked low and crept slowly towards the edge of the thick forest.

Far up ahead they saw two figures making their way through the forest, heading away from them-the forest was in total blackness, and coupled with a low-hanging mist on the forest floor they could not make out any distinguishable features.

'What if that's Athos and Aramis?' he whispered as he and Porthos positioned themselves between two large oak trees just inside the forest, hidden from the road outside. 'We could call out to them?'

'We can't take that chance..' Porthos replied, voice low. 'If we call out and it 'aint them, we'd just give away our position.'

'But if it is them, we can get back together!' the Gascon argued.

'Like I said, lad,' Porthos muttered, drumming his fingers into the muddy ground. 'We can't take that chance.'

D'artagnan nodded, trying not to get frustrated. He knew Porthos was right, of course he did, but he was just so worried about the other two... he watched as the two figures disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the mist.

'Let's take a look at that shoulder,' Porthos spoke up after a few seconds of silence. 'With all this mud around, we don't want you to get an infection on top of everything else.' He looked around as D'artagnan gingerly exposed his injured shoulder.

'You sure we're safe here?'

'No, but it'll have to do...' Porthos reasoned with a shrug. He couldn't hear anything, but right now he had to get the Gascon's shoulder looked at.

'Right, come on then...' he whispered, wiping his wet and muddy hands on his knees to create some semblance of hygiene before touching the wound. He suddenly had a thought, and put a hand into an inner pocket of his coat.

D'artagnan snorted as the larger man produced a small miniature glass bottle of brown liquid. 'What's that?' he asked, teeth chattering as coldness bit into them. The rain continued to fall in sheets; Porthos grinned and wiped the water from his brow as he unstopped the bottle. 'Brandy,' he answered, shrugging as the lad chuckled.

'How come they didn't spot that when they captured us?'

'Oh don't worry- I protect them very well!' Porthos laughed, before moving closer to D'artagnan and raising the bottle over his shoulder. He manoeuvred the lad until his shoulder was exposed and the rest of his body was leaning against a tree.

'I warn you- this is going to sting,' he muttered, eyes flashing. 'Try not to scream, alright?'

'I'll try my best..' D'artagnan muttered, before quirking an eyebrow as Porthos instead turned and picked up a thick branch from the grass next to them.

'It's probably best if you just bite down on this,' he reasoned, pushing it between the lad's teeth before he could argue.

Without pausing he then upended the bottle onto the wound; he grimaced as D'artagnan's eyes bulged in surprise and pain, before he gritted his teeth into the wood as a long, low moan of pain escaped from deep in his throat as he pressed his forehead into the sodden wood of the oak tree.

'Nearly done, nearly done...' Porthos quietly said; he fumbled in his pockets for a bandage, or anything to cover the wound. He settled on a new handkerchief he'd put in his pocket before they'd begun the trip.

He pressed it into the wound, trying his best to ignore D'artagnan's whimpers of pain as he cleaned up the blood and exposed the wound itself.

It needed stitching, he could see that- the trouble was he had nothing to do it with, including then necessary skill. He was no Aramis; he felt a pang of anxiety hit him as his mind wandered to his friends- he pushed it to the back of his mind as he heard a horrible groan of pain before a large crack of wood. He looked across and saw D'artagnan had bitten the branch in his mouth in half.

'It's alright, I'm done,' he whispered, helping him put his shirt and coat back on, covering the wound from the rain.

The lad's teeth were chattering with cold and pain now, and Porthos saw his face was now sheet white. He needed proper medical care; he had now done all he could.

'W-we should get g-going...' he muttered, wiping his hair from his face with a shaky hand. As they awkwardly clambered up again he gently pushed the larger man's shoulder.

'Thank for d-doing that.' He whispered, giving him a small smile.

'Don't be stupid,' he replied with a grin, putting a gentle hand on his good shoulder. 'I won't let you die, lad- I promise,' he added, before looking to the front again as he assessed their next move.

'Come on, lets go this way...' he muttered, nodding to a small path winding its way into the thick forest again. 'Out of the rain, at least.'

Together the two of them made their way along it, looking all around as they tried to spot any of the men; the forest was eerie in the darkness, and seemed as vast as the night sky to Porthos' mind. He was grateful for silence, and he made sure the two of them kept low to the ground as they picked their way deeper into the forest.

Every so often he heard a whimper to his side as D'artagnan's jarred his shoulder, or caught his finger as he stumbled across the path, and more than once he had had to stop at the younger man fought for breath as exhaustion was starting to set in.

He had wondered why Freddy had only injured D'artagnan and not him before they were sent into the forest- he now guessed it was so the uninjured man would be encumbered by the injured man, causing them to be slower as the injured one fought to keep up. He didn't care about stopping, or waiting for him to catch up- he'd never leave his brother's side, no matter what.

'Look..' D'artagnan's voice made him snap his head to the front- the path they were on soon forked to the right, and if he peered through the trees he could see a large mass of glittering lights near the forest floor.

'What the...' he muttered, before they rounded the corner and he saw it was a lake, illuminated by the moon in the sky.. ..rain pattered down onto it's surface, causing the glittering effect. It was huge; he could not see the opposite bank as they stumbled towards it.

'Quick,' he muttered, motioning D'artagnan to kneel down on the muddy bank as he did the same. 'You need to drink,' he added as the lad gave him a quizzical look.

'I'm not drinking that,' the younger man muttered, peering into the water. It was clogged with weeds and other plants, and he turned his nose up as he saw twigs move past in the wind.

'If you don't drink you're going to exhaust yourself even more- you need to drink something.' Porthos muttered, before cupping a hand in the water and bringing it to his face and drinking it himself.

'Got any more of those small bottles?' D'artagnan asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste as Porthos took another drink.

'You think I'd be drinking this if I did?' the larger man asked with a quirked eyebrow. 'Please, Lad- just one mouthful, at least.'

'Alright, alright...' he conceded, leaning towards the water's edge with a grimace. No sooner had he cupped his hand ready to dip into the icy water they both heard a commotion in the forest behind them.

'Shit, shit...' Porthos whispered as they heard voices emanating from the darkness; he looked around desperately, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't know how far away the voices were, and worst of all he couldn't tell where the voices were coming from...they could run right into them and have no idea. If they ran back into the forest he would be leading them to their deaths.

'Come on, in here...' He growled, putting a hand on d'artagnan's back and pushing him forwards.

'Really?!' the lad asked, but he knew there was no choice.

'Quickly...' Pothos whispered, groaning inwardly as he pushed himself into the water. 'Oh God that's cold...' he whispered, goosebumps immediately erupting as their legs and waists submerged into the icy waters.

They looked up as they pushed themselves further into the lake; Porthos could now see torchlights bobbing about in the forest...could count at least six, and that meant each torch belonged to a man. How many of the bastards were there, he thought with a thrill of anger.

Suddenly their feet dropped into deep water as the bank disappeared; D'artagnan's head bobbed down into the water before he could start treading water. He emerged spluttering and coughing..

'Shhh...' Porthos warned, looking back up to the bank before holding on to D'artagnan to keep him upright.

'Sorry...'

Together the two men watched silently as the man started filtering onto the muddy banks of the lake- they heard shouts and voices, but could not make out any words. Porthos shivered as coldness bit into him. If they could just keep quiet enough, maybe the men would go away without even noticing them... he felt D'artagnan tense up beside him, a hand raising out of the water- he looked up to see his face contorted into the shape he made before he did one of his famous large sneezes.

Eyes wide, he did the first thing that came to mind- as D'artagnan took in a large breath and started his sneeze he brought his own hand out of the water and immediately pushed the young lad's head into the water face first, cutting the sneeze off before it began.

D'artagnan emerged with an angry look in his eyes and his hair plastered to his face, to which Porthos could only shrug at and try not to snort- it had worked, he noted... slowly, each torch slowly began bobbing back into the forest, and the voices got quieter before he could hear nothing.

'Come on,' he eventually whispered, turning back to D'artagnan, who was wiping his hair away from his face.

'Let's keep going forwards- it'll take us ages to walk round this lake, and we could come out near a road,' he reasoned, and together the two of them began kicking slowly to the opposite side of the bank.

It seemed to take an age to swim to the other side- every so often Porthos had to stop again to allow D'artagnan some time to breathe. The handkerchief that had been placed on his wound had long since floated away, and Porthos could see that every time the lad moved that particular arm his face scrunched up in pain.

As they neared the edge Portho had to near-on drag the younger man along; his teeth chattered in his ear as D'artagnan now fought to keep his head upright,eyes occasionally closing, much to Porthos' horror.

'Nearly there...' he encouraged; his face and hands were numb with cold, and his feet felt like lumps of ice as he kicked both of them along. 'Almost made it...'

'So cold...' D'artagnan breathed in his ear, his fingers weakly scrabbling for purchase on Porthos' sleeve.

'I know, it's alright- we'll get you warmed up in no time, and then we can get out of here,' the larger man muttered ashe adjusted his hold on the younger man, eyes squinting into the distance to find the other end of the blasted lake. His heart soared as he spotted the bank. 'Thank God...' he whispered to himself.

'Hey lad, we made it!' he whispered, jiggling D'artagnan slightly to get his attention.

'That's good...' D'artagnan said slowly, nodding, although Pothos could see his eyes were now fluttering open and closed again.

'Come on D'artagnan, stay with me...' he muttered, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to get warmth back into his body as they finally got to the bank.

'M'alright... m'okay...' D'artagnan replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

Porthos wasn't convinced, before he groaned with exertion himself as he dragged himself and his wet clothes up onto the bank. He kept forgetting how heavy you'd be when you had been in water- He heard D'Artagnan gasp as his manacled hand was pulled upwards. 'Sorry, sorry...' he muttered, before leaning close to the bank and listening hard. Silence, save for the chirruping of crickets and occasional hooting of owls.

'It's safe,' he eventually surmised, before turning back to D'artagnan and reaching out to help him out of the water and up the bank. 'Lets go,' he muttered as he hauled the younger man onto the muddy bank. The Gascon lay still for a moment, looking up at the night sky and trying to breathe normally.

'You alright to go on?' Porthos asked, placing a hand on his chest as he looked around again.

'Of c-course...' he replied, turning awkwardly and looking across to the other man with a smile. 'I'm always r-ready, you know tha-that!'

Porthos chuckled at that, nodding his agreement as he watched D'artagnan haul himself to his knees and into a sitting positions. The lad was a marvel, he thought to himself with a proud feeling.

As they started making their way from the bank to the muddy road again, however, Porthos began to wonder if D'artagnan was just putting on a brave face. He clasped an arm around his waist as his legs nearly went from under him.

'Alright my arse...' he muttered with a chuckle, to which D'artagnan gave him a small shrug.

'Didn't want to w-worry you...' he whispered as he groaned in pain, before shuddering with cold.

'Let me worry, alright- I'm big enough and ugly enough to take it, alright?'

'Alright...'

Both men stopped dead as they heard voices shouting to their right, deep in the dark forest.

'Why can't they just _leave us alone_!' Porthos whispered, voice trembling with cold. He looked around; they were on a shingle path, leading away from the forest. If they followed it, they could perhaps evade these man without them ever knowing they were there.

The trouble, he hated to admit, was the man beside him- D'artagnan was walking on shaky legs and he occasionally almost fell to the ground, his face now taut with an every present agony, he could plainly see that.

There was only one solution, he decided. And D'artagnan was not going to like it.

'What are you d-doing...' the younger man muttered, although in truth he was now too tired to argue.

'Porthos, no..' he weakly added as Porthos got into position.

'It's either this, or I cut your arm off and go off by myself!' Porthos teased, before giving him an apologetic look. 'We need to go fast- you can't go fast. This is the solution.'

'But you're injured too and-'

'Stop whingeing and get ready...' Porthos cut across him. His heart fell into his stomach as he saw torchlights up ahead. The men were coming their way.

'I'm doing it now-' he warned, before he tried to ignore the moan of pain from the Gascon as he hauled him onto his broad shoulders. Both their hands were in horrible positions,and Porthos was sure that if his hand was pulled any harder it would drop off, but that couldn't be helped now.

'Right, lets go...' he muttered, before hitching the younger man further up his back and beginning a fast walk up the shingle path.

It was still slow going, but they covered more ground now with only Porthos moving- lightening flashed as new stormclouds starting brewing and Porthos felt D'artagnan startle as a deep rumble of thunder sounded overhead.

He could hear shouts and loud voices behind them, getting closer with each passing second- he swallowed hard, breathing deeply as he started picking up the pace.

For one heart-stopping moment his foot slipped on a loose wet rock, but he soon managed to find his feet again and continue.

He chanced a look behind him, eyes wide as orange flickering lights filled his vision, coupled with the sound of dogs barking.'Oh God...' he muttered, before daring to start to run- both arms were clasped around D'artagnan in a bid to keep him on his back; he darted round a corner, breathing hard as he looked around.

'Here, over here!' he heard a man's voice amid the thunder and rain. 'Quickly!'

Porthos looked around, and spotted an oldish looking man standing alone by a wooded clearing, waving frantically at him.

'Quick!' he shouted again, looking behind Porthos to the men who would now be close behind him. 'Before they get here! Come on!'

Porthos made his way to the man, eyes wide and fearful. 'Who are you?' he growled.

'I'll explain when we're inside- quickly!' the man muttered, nodding back to his house that was nestled in the outskirts of the forest. 'My wife saw you running and I knew we had to help you!' he added as he and Porthos began making their way quickly to the house.

Porthos could now see a woman in the window, her anxious and lined face pressed against the glass as she watched them approach.

'How do I know you're not with them?' Porthos asked, wary and untrusting of this sudden saving grace.

'What they do on the other side of the river has nothing to do with us-you have to trust us!' the man replied as he walked up the wooden steps leading to his house. 'We saw you out the window and knew we had to do something-You needed help, and we can give it to you-' he opened the door, and a warmth hit them, comforting and inviting.

'You can take it or leave it- but that man will die if you don't let us help!' he added, nodding up the D'artagnan.

The sounds of dogs barking sealed Porthos' mind. These people meant them no harm, he reasoned- otherwise they would have surely killed them by now, or at least made their presence known the group of hunters behind them. He nodded gratefully at the man as he stumbled over the threshold, hoping his instincts about these kindly people were right...

 **Have they been saved, or is something wrong here? Find out soon!**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**

 **X**


	10. Chapter 10

Aramis didn't know how long he and Athos had been running for, but he was astounded at the sheer size of the forest as the two of them made their way round yet another corner, only to find themselves facing a patch of forest that looked exactly the same as the wooded area they had only just left.

'You don't...think...we're going around in cir-circles?'Athos muttered as they finally slowed, before he sighed in pain and pressed a shaky hand to his side.

'I hope not,' was all the medic could reply as he quickly came to his friend's side and gently moved his hand to look at the wound. 'This needs stitching as soon as possible...' he muttered, more to himself than the man beside him. 'And the blade has to come out,' he added, worry piquing in his chest again.

'Can't y-you do it?' Athos asked, before he gently fell to his knees onto the soft, muddy grass to get a bit more comfortable; each step was like walking on fire. The rain was now more of a misty cloud, but it still soaked them to the bone; both men now had chattering teeth and red-tinged, raw skin from where they had been running against the wind.

Aramis crouched down and carefully inspected the knife, which was still packed tight with the bandage. The material was stiff and soaked in scarlet, but Aramis dared not remove it. He had nothing to replace it with.

'If I take it out you'll bleed to death in an hour, maybe two...' he warned, sitting back and wiping his hair from his forehead.

'But if you don't, I'll only slow us down, and we will certainly get caught within an hour, maybe two..'. Athos retorted, his face hard. 'If I have better movement perhaps I could run faster.'

'You will not have better movement- you'll get weaker and weaker until you finally drop down stone dead.' Aramis muttered, shaking his head. 'I won't do it.'

'I will, then.'

'Athos do-'

'Aramis, listen to me- you need to get help. You need to find D'artagnan and Porthos-'

'I'm not leaving you, you idiot!' Aramis snapped, his heart beating faster as he looked across at his friend. 'Don't speak like that!'

Athos sat back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 'I'm only being rational.' He muttered, shivering.

'Is that what you call it?' Aramis snorted. 'I call it stupidity.' He sat on the muddy ground and crossed his legs; both men sat in a silence for a few minutes. 'We've evaded them for a while so far,' Aramis eventually said, a note of hope in his voice. 'We just need to stay low and quiet and keep pushing forwards...we'll come out of this blasted forest soon enough.'

'Not if we're going round in circles.' Athos pointed out, before he clasped on to Aramis' forearm to help heave himself to his feet. He closed his eyes against the pain as it flourished in his side- he didn't know how long he could keep going for, but he knew he had to do it somehow.

He looked around and spotted a large rock in a ditch by an oak tree; he stepped towards it and gingerly bent down to pick it up- he groaned with exertion as he carefully hoisted it to his chest and turned around again, before making his way back to Aramis.

'What on earth are you doing?' the medic asked, grasping the rock to take some of the weight.

'Making a m-marker...' Athos replied through gritted teeth. 'Drop it down here,' he instructed- the rock splattered to the muddy ground with a squelch.

'At least this way we can see if we've been here before,'

'Good idea,' Aramis nodded with a smile, before looking up at they heard a large crack of wood from behind them.

'We need to find a road,' he muttered as they picked a route. The trees were more eveningly spread around this part of the forest- it was as if the woods were made of vast areas of different species of tree. 'Let's go,' he added, and the two of them began walking back into the copse of woodland, their eyes swivelling around at every hoot of an owl, every crack of a branch, every blast of eerie wind.

* * *

The house was quiet now the men-folk had left for the night. Ella sat in her rocking chair looking out of the window at the stormy night outside, pushing the thought of what was happening out in the rain out of her mind as best she could. She softly stroked the dozing ginger cat on her lap, her wrinkled, aged hands carefully running up and down his back like a pattern as her old heart beat anxiously against her chest.

The rain pattered onto the window frame, and every so often she could see her own face, wrought with fear, illuminated in the glass as lightening flashed.

As the thunder rolled over the hills she curled her legs up in the blanket, shivering despite the heat and crackle of the fire in front of her.

She hated these nights- the days and nights leading up to the hunts were full of terror and uncertainty; she cast her mind back to that day, years and years ago, when she had been a young woman- her life full of promise, of innocence, and then it had all changed.

She had been close to her younger brother, Jack. She was older by three years and the two of them had had a lot of fun together in their small village. One day- she could have been no more than sixteen, she guessed- she and her brother had spent a happy morning collecting firewood, and decided to go home using a short cut through the same woods those poor Musketeers were now running for their lives in.

They hadn't been worried as the woods pressed in on them, but as the hours passed and they got more hopelessly lost, Jack had offered to split up so they could find the way home quicker. She had barely chance to open her mouth to disagree when they had been ambushed by four men in dirty clothes.

They had taken them to the large house she sat in now. She pushed the images and memories of the first three days out her mind; the pain was ever present, even all these years later.

She caught her breath as a small sob threatened to escape her- Robert was in the next room, and if he knew she was still awake she'd be in for a beating, she knew.

With this in mind, she retired to her small bed in the corner of the room- her cat quickly curled up on her stomach as she lay propped on her pillows, eyes fixed on the crackling hearth on the other side of the room as her mind returned to the night her world changed forever.

Her brother had been so brave, protecting her from the horrors ,comforting her when he had been beaten into unconsciousness trying to stop the men, plotting their escape with her whilst they were chained in the cold barn, but whilst they had their uses of her- as was the horror of any captive woman- he soon became expendable.

The night they took him and 'released him' was seared in her memory- she let the silent tears flow now, her bottom lip wavering as she stroked the cat's fur whilst trying to regain her composure.

They had beaten him before letting him go; she could still see his poor bruised face in the moonlight, his eyes alight with fear. 'I'll come back for you!' he had promised as he was forced out of the door at gunpoint.

Mere minutes later there was a series of shots in the night- she had screamed and struggled against the laughing and jeering men, but there was nothing she could do. Then came the dawning realisation that she would never be afforded the same chance her brother had been given...

Now, all these years later, she knew well enough they were never going to let her leave.

She gave the men that met their end here her compassion- as much as she could give whilst under the watchful eye of Robert, the man who had forced her to be with through the years-

She had stitched up the young, brown-haired Musketeer- he had looked at her with fear, something that broke her heart. She smiled, though, as she cast her mind back- he had reminded her strongly of Jack, so much so she almost believed he had been brought back to her. She treated him with love, had even apologised for what was happening around him.

She hated herself for not being able to save him, to lead him to the back door and show him the road out. Maybe she could have, if she hadn't been so scared. Maybe she should have ignored her fears, and they could both have been free.

She sighed, tears stinging her eyes, before leaning over and blowing the candle out, enveloping herself in darkness.

She had tried to offer Jed, her son who,despite his conception, she loved with all her heart, a way to make something of himself. She had made the red coat over a summer, dying the leather and stitching it painstakingly together- he wore it everyday, and each time she saw him in it her heart swelled with pride.

He had ended up, of course, taking his Father's path in life, something she would never forgive Robert for, above everything he had ever done to her. To see her son gloat, jeer and enjoy the suffering of others made her want to vomit; she could only hope he would, one day, see the wrongness and evilness of his actions. She would be there when he did, she promised herself. She couldn't let her family suffer the way she had.

She tensed as she heard bootfalls outside her door- thankfully they marched down the corridor and out the back door; lying back in her blankets she knew she would not sleep tonight. Instead she stared into the fire, wondering what was happening out in the darkness and rain.

* * *

Aramis was loathe to admit it, but he was becoming more and more convinced with each corner they turned and each tree they passed- they were well and truly lost.

It was as if the world had turned to forest; he just could not understand how they had not seen a road or a path...even a dirt road for carts could not be seen.

He looked up- the stars shone brightly, but the moon was obscured by cloud. A coldness washed over him again.

They had started by walking as fast as Athos' injury would allow- that had served them well for a while as they tried to find a path or a house.

Not long after they had begun they heard a gunshot from somewhere in the forest behind them. Not wanting to wait to find out how close the men were behind them Aramis had lunged for Athos and taken most of his weight before running back into the thick copse of trees, moving as fast as they could.

Now they had slowed to a walk again- Athos was now almost wholly relying on Aramis to move, and the medic could see fresh blood seeping from the wound.

'A...Mis...' he heard Athos breathe out beside him. He turned just in time to see his friend finally buckle and fall to the ground- he caught him before he hit the mud and gently laid him down, eyebrows creased together in concern.

'It's alright, just rest for a second..' he muttered, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. He looked up as a gunshot boomed across the sky, sending birds scattering into the air.

'Athos we need to go, we-'

'Go...w-without me...' Athos' voice hitched. He pressed a shaky hand to his wound.

'I won't do it!' Aramis growled, fingers curling into Athos' borrowed coat. 'I won't.'

'I w-won't make it... you know th-that..'

'Don't be stupid, of course you'll make it, I-' both men stopped and turned as they heard shouts and jeering. Aramis turned back round, his face hard and determined. 'All for one and one for all, remember?' he whispered, before he stood up and and grasped Atho's under the arms.

'Aramis wh-'

'Shh...' Aramis hushed, before standing next to his head and pulling hard- he pulled Athos into the dense undergrowth. After gently placing Athos behind a tree he pulled some bracken and branches over him. 'Stay here, and stay silent, alright?' he instructed. 'Don't come out no matter what you hear, promise?'

'Aramis-'

'Promise me'

'P-Promise.'

'Good. Now I won't be long,' Aramis said with a small smile, before walking off, leaving Athos alone.

Aramis crouched behind a large tree and waited. After a few seconds he found what he was looking for- three men were sauntering down the grassy path between trees that he and Athos had just been on. One man carried a gun, one carried a knife and the other had a large axe in his arms- Aramis waited for them to pass him, completely unaware that he was there. The men were talking in hushed tones, their faces flecked with mud; seconds later, Aramis made his move.

He targeted the man with the gun first- using the knife he thrust it into the man's side, before swinging him around and throwing him, already dead, into the bushes to his side.

The man with the axe turned round, roaring in anger, and raised the weapon above his head- Aramis ducked the blow and pushed the man hard in the chest, watching him tumble over onto the muddy ground, unconcious.

The man with the knife was quicker at reacting- the two men, each armed with a knife, circled each other as the rain started hammering down again.

'Come on then!' the man yelled, a horrible grin on his face. 'You think you can take me?!'

'I do not think, I know!' Aramis retorted, face set in a snarl.

'Come on then, musketeer!' the man taunted, before he ran at Aramis- the medic stepped backwards, slashing the man in the chest as he passed. The other man, however, knew some tricks of his own- as he passed Aramis he brought the knife up, catching him in the cheek.

Aramis reeled back, a hand flashing to his face- the other man took this opportunity to counter-attach; he grasped Aramis around the waist and flung him to the side, sending him off balance and onto one knee. A swift punch to the side of the head and Aramis fell hard to the muddy ground; he looked up as he desperately tried to struggle back to his feet- the man was above him, knife raised above his head ready to give the killer blow.

Before the musketeer could react there was a large bang and the man was flung backwards in a flash of scarlet, leaving the scene in silence.

Aramis looked round, a grin spreading across his face as he Athos sprawled next to the dead man who had had the gun, the weapon in his hand.

'Don't c-come out...' Athos recited as Armais scrambled up and helped him to his feet. 'No ma-matter what you h-hear, hmmm?'

'Alright, perhaps that was a bit foolish of me,' Armais muttered as they started walking again.

'P-perhaps?' Athos asked, eyebrow quirked.

'Alright, it was foolish of me...'the other man chuckled, nodding. 'Thank you,'

'Don't be st-stupid...' Athos muttered, shaking his head.

They turned yet another corner, expecting to see yet another dense, thick patch of woodland. What the men got, to their total, inexplicable surprise, was a view of a spectacular lake.

'Wow,' Aramis breathed, relieved it wasn't yet more woods.

Athos, however, tapped him on the chest, nodding to their left when Aramis gave him a questioning look.

They had come out at the bank of the river, and the medic's heart soared as he saw a small wooden house just through the bushes to their left, still quite a way away, but close enough to make out the features. The chimney was billowing smoke despite the late hour.

Just as they were about to step towards it they heard shouts from a little further ahead- they turned and saw a man yelling and waving at a large, stumbling figure.

'Is that...?' Athos breathed.

'Porthos,' Aramis replied, relief swamping him.

'Where's d'artagnan?'

'He's..' Aramis squinted at the scene- Porthos was talking to the man, who was pointing at the house; Aramis could now see a woman at the window, but could make out nothing else. 'He's on Porthos' back. He must be injured.'

'Damn it,'

'No this is good, we know where they are now! Come on!' he replied, and together the two of them began slowly making their way towards the house. They could only hope the man and woman who had given refuge to Porthos and D'artagnan were friendly...

* * *

 **Nearly together again! But lots more still to come!**

 **Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!**

 **Please review!**

 **X**


	11. Chapter 11

Porthos stumbled through the door and into the spacious living area of the wooden house- he nodded gratefully to the old woman as she walked from her kitchen and into the living area, her lined faced creased with concern as she looked at the two bloody, muddy men in her house.

'Jack, lock the door,' she called as her husband came in, his hair plastered to his face as he too came into the house. He nodded and turned round, sliding the dead-bolt across the door and closing all the curtains in the house.

'Put him down here..' the woman said as she came round to where Porthos was stood with D'artagnan still on his back. 'On the rug by the fire in the parlour.'

'I-thank you...' Porthos muttered as he crossed the wooden floor and into the parlour, before carefully manoeuvring the younger man off his back and onto the floor by the crackling fire- the Gascon groaned, his eyes wide as he looked round.

'Where are we?' he whispered, his face pale. He shivered violently on the floor, his skin erupting in goosebumps again as welcome heat touched his flesh.

'You're with people who can help,' the old lady said kindly from behind Porthos, already busying herself with getting bowls of hot water, towels and bandages from the old drawers dotted around the lower part of the house.

D'artagnan looked up at Porthos, a confused look on his face. Porthos nodded back- despite being thankful for the help, and he truly was, a distinct feeling of unease fluttered in his stomach.

'Now, lets take a look at you...' the lady said, her voice low and comforting. She knelt down, smiling a little as D'artagnan flinched at her touch.

'My name is Marie- I used to be a nurse when I was younger,' she giggled as her husband snorted from behind her; her laugh tinkled and put D'artagnan immediately at ease. 'A lot younger!' she added, pushing her greying hair from her face as her fingers, still nimble and gentle, began to deftly undo the Musketeer's coat and assorted shirts, reaching the skin beneath.

'What a-about the men?' D'artagnan muttered, teeth chattering despite the heat.

'They know better than to come in here,' Jack replied darkly- Porthos turned and saw he was peering through a small crack in the curtains, a gun in his arms.

'Who are you?' he asked, looking from the man to the woman, who was preparing some cloths to clean the wounds.

'We can explain once we get this young man sorted out...' the lady said, looking to Porthos. 'I promise you'll get answers.'

Porthos nodded as sudden wave of tiredness nearly overcame him- he was now sure these people meant them no harm, no matter their story. He knelt next to D'artagnan before accidentally flexing his manacled wrist.

He swore loudly as the metal cut into his wrist, before remembering who was beside him and covering his mouth. 'Sorry,' he muttered to the old woman, who chuckled and shook her head playfully.

'Here,' Jack said from behind him- he passed Porthos a small key. 'This should work,'

'Thank you,' Porthos replied gratefully, quickly undoing the locks on both his and d'artagnan's wrists.

'That feels better, eh?' he asked the Gascon, who smiled weakly and flexed his own wrist.

'Much be-better.'

Porthos sat back with a sigh, enjoying the free movement of his hand again. 'How is he?' he asked Marie, who was busy dipping cloth into the warm water and gently cleansing D'artagnan's wounds.

'Most are superficial, which is very good,' she reported, eyes creased in concentration as she worked.

'I can see he has a wound in his shoulder, which I'll need to stitch.' She then turned to his hand, sighing in anger as she looked at his broken finger. 'And this needs binding.'

She leaned forwards and reached into a small basket, pulling a log from inside and throwing it into the fire- 'He's going to catch his death if he doesn't warm up soon,' she explained before getting back to work. 'Jack can give you both some of his old clothes to put on,' she added.

'What can we ever do to repay you, my good lady?' Porthos breathed, his own aching bones and muscles finally beginning to settle as he leaned against a chair by the fire, relief now coursing through him. D'artagnan was going to be alright.

Marie laughed her tinkling laugh again, making Porthos smile a little. 'We're just glad we could help, aren't we Jack?'

'Of course,' Jack nodded by his place on a chair near the door.

'We j-' Marie's voice stopped as they heard a noise from outside. Marie, Jack and Porthos all looked at each other.

'They wouldn't dare come here.' Marie said first, her voice firm. 'They just wouldn't.'

'Might be an animal.' Jack added, standing up slowly.

Porthos' heart dropped into his stomach. They should never have come here and put these good people in danger. 'We should go,' he said, bending down and starting to gather his belongings.

'You'll do no such thing!' Jack muttered, shaking his head. 'We invited you here and we're not about to just let you leave.'

'But we've just brought danger to your door!' Porthos argued, before gathering his knife and heading to a spot beside Jack.

'Then if it is danger, you can help us combat it, yes?'

'Of course,' Porthos nodded, steeling himself. 'I'll go first,' he instructed, Musketeer-mode clicking into his brain once more. 'Stay behind me,'

Jack nodded and stepped back, watching as Porthos readied himself by the door that led back into the kitchen and the front door.

Suddenly there was as a crack of broken wood- Porthos guessed those bastards had broken the dead-lock. He wondered how many where there behind the door- he would take on them all and damned the consequences …

He counted to three and steadied himself, before throwing open the door with a crash and rushing in, growling in anger. He grabbed the first man he saw, wheeling him around and punching him in the jaw, sending him spiralling into a chair and onto the floor.

The man let out a pained groan and a yelp of pain, throwing up both his hands in surrender from the floor as Porthos thundered towards him, knife raised. Porthos stopped mid-step, his eyes wide as his brain caught up with the situation. He knew that voice.

' _Aramis?'_ he whispered, his knife slipping onto the wooden floor as he rushed to his friend- he clasped two arms around the medic and hauled him to his feet before embracing him in a strong hug.

'Nearly had you then!' the larger man muttered as he grasped Aramis' shoulders. 'I'm so glad to see you!'

'Almost, but not quite!' other man chuckled, closing his eyes in relief as he sank into the embrace. The two men released each other after a few seconds, smiling at one another, before they heard a groan from the door.

'Athos!' Porthos cried, turning and catching their leader as he all-but-fell into the house.

'It's alright, I've got you..' he muttered as he turned to the door where the other three were still waiting. 'Let's get you in the parlour, we can-' he stopped as the parlour door shot open again and Marie stormed out, something large and metal in her hands.

'Marie, no!' he cried, but it was too late- with one fell swoop she bashed Aramis' over the back of the head with whatever she had in her arms, with as much strength as she could muster.

Thankfully, it wasn't a very strong hit- Aramis still gasped out in pain and almost buckled to the floor, however; Marie stepped away as Porthos gently pulled her backwards.

'It's alright- he's my friend, someone whose being hunted too!' he explained.

Her eyes were wide as she dropped the frying pan onto the floor, where it landed with a loud clang.

'Sorry,' she whispered, shaking slightly as she looked up at Porthos. 'It had all gone quiet in here so Jack and I thought you'd been killed. Jack went to get more ammunition but I knew I just couldn't just _stand there_ , so I picked up the heaviest thing I could find...' she trailed off, looking down at Aramis with concern as he heaved himself back into a standing position.

'My lady I should be the one apologising,' he countered as he rubbed the back of his head, before flashing her a tired but still-winning smile.'I saw our friends being graciously let into your home and wanted to be sure you were friend, not foe.'

He looked across at Porthos, who was still supporting a near unconscious Athos. 'Perhaps I should have knocked.'

'Perhaps,' Porthos agreed with as snort, before he dragged Athos into the warmth of the parlour. He gently placed him down next to D'artagnan- Marie knelt down again and continued her work.

'We need some more hot water, and fresh towels for this other young man,' she instructed Porthos as she motioned Athos; Porthos nodded and walked back into the kitchen.

Aramis sank into a wooden chair, resting his head in his hands as the warmth from the fire sank into his tired body.

'Are you injured?' Marie asked him, giving him a comforting smile. 'I used to be a nurse,' she added.

Aramis gave her another tired smile and shook his head. 'I'll live, my Lady,' he whispered, before looking down to his brothers on the floor.

'Taking care of them is all I ask.' he whispered in a low voice.

Marie smiled and nodded, before turning back to her work. 'There is broth on the stove-' she said after a few seconds. 'Spoon yourselves a bowl.'

'We are forever indebted to you,' Aramis whispered, meaning every word as he stood up- both of them looked up as Jack came back into the room, a box of ammunition in his arms.

'Thank you, my love, but I am afraid you're about five minutes too late,' Marie giggled as Jack and Aramis locked eyes.

'Whose this, then?' Jack asked, eyeing Aramis warily.

'They are friends of the two men,' Marie explained as she sorted out the stitching for D'artagnan and Athos' wounds. 'Now come and make yourself useful helping me, my darling.' Jack nodded and knelt down by his wife, whilst Aramis walked back through the house into the kitchen where Porthos was gathering fresh bandages.

'I'm so glad you're alive.' he said in a sombre voice to his friend as he sat down on a chair.

'So am I, as it happens,' Porthos chuckled darkly. He sobered as he saw Aramis' expression.

'I thought I'd lost d'artagnan at one point,' he admitted heavily, running a hand down his face. 'What happened to Athos?'

'One of the men...Freddy, I think...stabbed him before they let us go.' Aramis replied, voice low and angry. 'Near on had to carry him the whole way with a knife embedded in him,'

'Bastards..'. Porthos growled, grasping the fresh towels tightly. Aramis nodded his agreement before pointing to Porthos' wrist, which was red-raw and bore the marks of his handcuff. 'Did you try the gun trick, too?' he asked, eyebrow quirked.

'No,' Porthos shook his head, before nodding to the closed parlour door. 'Jack gave me the key, and I-' he stopped mid-sentence and looked back to Aramis.

Both men seemed to have the same thought at exactly the same time- a hot, sickly feeling wound through their stomachs as their eyes swivelled to the parlour.

They walked in slowly, eyes adjusting to the scant light- Porthos could see Marie and Jack on the floor, tending to Athos and D'artagnan. Had he got them wrong after all?

He cleared his throat as he and Aramis came to stand by the fire, looking down at the scene. 'Jack, I want to ask you something,' he started, suddenly unsure of how to proceed.

'What's the matter?' Jack asked as he was busy tending to Athos. Aramis could see the knife had been removed and the blood-flow was being well staunched as Jack was preparing to stitch. 'Perhaps we've got this wrong...' he whispered.

'How do you have the key that unlocked the handcuffs?' Porthos decided to just go for the question directly. 'Are you working for those men who captured us?'

Marie sat back, her hands tainted scarlet as she gave the men a small smile. 'Of course we're not working for them,' she whispered. She looked across at her husband, who was stitching the wound in Athos' side.

They all waited in silence until he was done- when he had snipped the last of the thread he too sat back and fixed Aramis and Porthos with a look. 'I used to be a solider.' He started, washing his hands. 'When I got out I turned to manual work- labouring, carpentry, forestry. For a time I was a blacksmith...I made the handcuffs, yes, but not for the men who captured you specifically.'

'How come you have the key?' Aramis pointed out.

'I made a skeleton key for each handcuff.' Jack replied, shrugging. 'It was common practice when I was young. It was just fortunate I had kept it for that particular type of handcuff- the skeleton keys work for each different type, and I had thrown most of them away when I stopped working.'

The old man sighed and stood up, wiping his hands dry. Marie did the same, before smiling across at the two musketeers as they peered down at their friends.

Both D'artagnan and Athos had their eyes closed, but they looked peaceful and warm by the fireside, their wounds stitched and cleaned. Every so often they wouldsee D'artagnan open his eyes and look around for a while, which Aramis took as a very good sign.

'They'll live, but we do not have any medicines that can combat infection or other illnesses.' she explained. Aramis smiled across at her, his heart truly full of joy and gratefulness.

'How can we ever repay such kindness?' he whispered.

'By getting yourselves and your friends home safely.' She replied with a smile.

'What if those men come to your house and-'

'They won't.' Jack muttered darkly.

'How can you be so sure?' Porthos asked, frowning a little. 'They'll do anything to kill us.'

'They know better than to come to our door,' Jack explained, 'they never normally come to this side of the river.'

'So...you know what they do here?' Aramis asked. 'You know about it all?'

Marie and Jack looked at each other, a sad expression on their faces. 'When we first knew of what was happening across the river we didn't believe it.' Jack said darkly. 'Thought their boasts were just lies and bravado- to make us scared of them.' He sat heavily on a wooden chair before continuing. 'Then our son disappeared.' he looked across to his wife- Marie gave a brave smile, but Aramis could see raw pain in her eyes. 'About twenty years ago now,' she whispered.

'We never knew what happened to him, but deep down we came to the conclusion that he'd been taken. Jed and his Father kept making comments to us, veiled comments of what might of happened to our son...'

'Why did you not go and get help?' Porthos asked.

'Who would believe us?' Jack snorted, shaking his head. 'This is a small community. Word would have got out that we'd told the soldiers.' He looked across at his wife again. 'I would not risk my wife's safety for anything...' he sat back, before he swallowed and cleared his throat. 'Perhaps I should have.'

'We will get justice for your son,' Aramis growled, nodding at Marie, who smiled across at him. 'You have my word, on my honour as a Musketeer.'

'Thanks lad,' Jack replied, nodding his thanks. 'You're a braver man than I ever was,' he added sadly.

'You were doing right by your family-' Aramis said, '- that is the bravest choice.'

They all looked up as they heard voices, muffled and distant, coming from near the house.

'I thought you said they'd never come to the house?' Porthos muttered from the window.

'They don't!' Marie called, one hand on her crucifix around her neck.

'Well they're coming this way.' Porthos replied, before stepping back and taking a deep breath.

'You have to get out.' Jack said, as the voices became louder.

'No, we must stay and protect you-'

'Son,' Jack replied, showing Aramis his gun. 'I can at least still do something useful-' he shot his wife a grin. 'No matter what the missus might say!'

Aramis nodded before looking down at Athos and d'artagnan, and then across to Porthos- Marie seemed to read his mind. How were they going to get them to safety?

'Quickly, take them round the back of the house!' she ordered, before she and her husband rushed off first.

'Quickly...' Aramis repeated, grasping Athos around the middle and heaving him out of the room.

'A..mis..' he heard their leader groan.

'It's alright Athos, you're alright...' he muttered, pulling him out into a cold corridor and out to wards the back of the house. 'We've found Porthos and D'artagnan...' he explained, to which Athos moaned out his acknowledgement.

'But now the men are coming so we have to get out.' Aramis muttered as he finally pushed open the door that led out to the back of the house. He moved over to let Porthos through, who was supporting a semi-conscious D'artagnan through the house- they looked across at Marie and Jack, who were readying a horse and a small cart.

'It only fits two,' Marie said as the four men reached them. 'We never needed one any bigger.'

'Then Athos and D'artagnan go,' Aramis said firmly, before Jack helped him hoist Athos into the back of the cart.

Porthos helped D'artagnan into the seat and wound the reins around his wrists. 'You'll need to get you both back to Paris,' he explained, eyes creased in a frown as he looked across at the Gascon.

'Can you do it?' he asked.

'Course...I can...' D'artagnan smiled weakly, gripping the reins. 'As long as w-we don't get l-lost.'

'Yeah..' Porthos snorted, hoping against hope that didn't happen. 'Raise the alarm and send Treville here.'

'What about you two?' D'artagnan muttered, before turning to find Aramis- he saw him gently easing Athos into a comfortable position in the cart.

'Well, you know us,' Porthos chuckled. 'We'll always find a way out.'

'Go now, before it's too late!' Marie whispered urgently, eyes now lined with fear.

Aramis knelt down in front of Athos, worry in his eyes. 'You're going to be alright, Athos...' he promised, nodding at the man before him as his head lolled. 'You'll get back to Paris and you'll be fine.'

''Mis...you c-can't stay...' Athos breathed, exhaustion evident in his face. 'You and P-Porthos will die...'

'Not if I can help it!' Aramis replied with a chuckle. He stepped back and onto the sodden grass as Porthos put a hand on his back.

'We'll be alright Athos- don't worry about us!' he muttered, before they all looked to their left as they heard dogs barking. Athos locked eyes with the medic for a final second before Jack slapped the rear-end of the horse, sending it jolting forwards and rattling into the night.

The two musketeers watched it go until it was swallowed by the mist floating above the forest floor.

'Here now-' Jack now muttered, motioning for the men to follow. They all ran back into the house, but this time Jack turned right and down a steep, rocky set of steps that led into a cellar.

He creaked open a trapdoor embedded in the floor, exposing the entrance to a pitch-black tunnel.

'Used to be a mineshaft.' Jack explained as he fetched a lantern and lit it.

'When the mines dried up it was used for the transportation of illegal goods by the people who lived here before us. Alcohol, sometimes stolen money.'

'I've never travelled all the way through, so I don't know where it heads out.'

'So it could be a dead-end?' Porthos asked, nervous.

'There's doors that open up every so often along the route,' Jack replied, handing Aramis the lantern.

'Go quickly, before they get here!'

'What about you and Marie?' The medic asked, worry in his voice.

'We're not afraid of them, lad.' Jack smiled. 'Just get yourselves out.'

'We'll come back, I promise!' Aramis muttered with a nod, before he and Porthos gingerly made their way down the ladder and onto the soft earth of the mineshaft.

'We'll hold them off here- just get out as fast as you can.' Jack said from above, his voice echoing. The Musketeers looked up with worried faces as he then stepped backwards and placed the trapdoor back- absolute darkness, save the light from the lantern, enveloped them.

Aramis gulped as they heard something heavy being dragged over the door, barring the men's way of getting to them.

The two men looked across at each other before looking forwards; they silently started making their way along the mineshaft, wondering what else this night would bring them...

 **Hope you enjoyed that extra-long chapter! I just didn't know when to stop!**

 **Next chapter up soon!**

 **Please review!**

 **X**


	12. Chapter 12

Athos never liked horse and carts- an incident when he was a child had compounded his dislike for being trapped in a wooden box and hurtling at great speed down wooden terrain. As his head banged painfully against the wooden side of the cart as the horse stumbled over a large tree root as she made her way down an uneven slope he was reminded of this fact- he groaned as he tried to lever himself up into a better position to take in their surroundings.

His wound was almost numb with pain, save for the painful burning of the criss-cross of stitches that he could feel running down his abdomen.

They were travelling down a narrow dirt road, obviously dug out and cultivated by previous occupants of the house as a way to get in and out of the forest- Athos could only pray that it led straight out of this hell and into open roads.

His side erupted in a sudden pain, but at least he could trust that the wound would hopefully not fester in the time it would take them to get back to Paris- he moved awkwardly towards D'artagnan,groaning in exertion as dragged himself across.

His fingertips were on fire as he clung on to the wooden sides of the cart as he tried to manoeuvre himself next to the younger man- finally he was crouched in the front of the cart, directly behind D'artagnan.

'You...alright?' he asked, already breathless with exhaustion, before a moan escaped him as the wheel of the cart fell into a small hole, jolting the two men into one another. He looked down at the Gascon as the younger man didn't answer- he could see his teeth still chattering and his clothes were still wet. His white hands were tightly fisted in the reigns, and the swordsman could see his eyes darting left and right along the path.

'D'artagnan,' he said, putting a hand on his good shoulder. 'Talk to me,'

'Can't.' D'artagnan replied, shrugging off the hand and craning his neck around a corner before the horse reached it. 'We h-have to get back to Paris in o-one piece...I have to g-get us back...'

'We'll get back, lad,' Athos tried to reassure him. 'How's your shoulder?' he asked- if it felt anything like his side felt he knew the lad would be in great pain.

'I'll be alright Athos,' D'artagnan's voice was tinted with something akin to annoyance or frustration- Athos put another hand on his shoulder, this time not moving it when the younger man tried to shrug it off.

'Listen, you have to let me help you; if you exhaust yourself we'll both be up a certain creek without a paddle,' he muttered, before groaning again as the horse turned a sharp corner, sending him off to the side and into the wooden wall of the cart- D'artagnan awkwardly turned and grasped onto his shirt, pulling him back into a crouching position.

'Sit down, I don't want you t-' both men startled as they heard a gunshot from somewhere behind them. 'Shit...' the younger man muttered, sitting up straighter as the horse spooked, threatening to derail the cart as it reared to try and find a way into the wooded area.

'Careful girl, careful!' the younger man cried, trying to manoeuvre the reigns- he groaned out as the leather cut into his cold skin.

He looked round with worried eyes as he felt two hands on his shoulder and back- Athos groaned out into his ear as the older man leaned on D'artagnan to heave himself quickly into a standing position and clamber over the cart and into the seat next to the Gacon. He swore loudly as pain flourished in his side, but he took the reigns from the younger man without another word and expertly began to take back control.

'Whoa...' he instructed, voice deep and laced with pain as he drew the reigns closer to his chest and moved the horse back into the middle of the path.

In his peripheral vision he saw D'artagnan look behind him- 'Can you see them?' he asked, before swearing loudly as the cart hit another dip in the road., jolting his side.

'No...' the Gascon muttered,shaking his head as he looked back to the front. 'Could have been a warning shot?'

'Or they've found Aramis and Porthos,' Athos replied, a hot weight dropping into his stomach. Guilt surged in his chest- they shouldn't be running from trouble...they should be facing it together.

'Don't say that...' D'artagnan groaned out from beside him, slumping to the side the cart, breathing heavily as the horse continued to walk down the muddy road.

Athos looked round, thinking- they were never going to get back to Paris to raise the alarm at this pace; Aramis and Porthos would surely not make it if they kept up this slow walk.

He snapped the reigns, groaning as the horse started to canter- he felt a steadying hand on his shoulder as D'artagnan moved to stop him falling from the cart.

'We need to make haste,' he explained, to which D'artagnan nodded with a fearful look.

'W-what if those men ca-catch us..' he stuttered, putting a hand on his bandaged shoulder for a few seconds as pain surged.

'I won't let anything happen to you,' the older man promised, eyes still on the muddy road.

Both men looked round suddenly as a deafening gun shot reached their ears; Athos swore again as he felt and heard a distinct whistle near his ear. Snapping the reigns again the horse threw itself forwards and around a corner, snorting with exertion as Athos drove it faster and faster in a bid to get away from the men. It was hard going, as the route was littered with high roots and holes, and mud was encrusting onto the wheels, making it tough to ride through.

'Come on, come on...' he muttered, eyes scanning for a sign that this forest was now beginning to thin and that they would soon be coming out the other side. There was a sudden, dull twang, and he looked round to see a crossbow arrow stuck into the wood behind them, with its point mere inches from D'artagnan's back.

Another whistling noise, and both men watched as an arrow flew between them before hitting a tree and falling to the ground.

'D'artagnan get down!' Athos shouted, putting a hand on the top of the younger man's head and pushing him down so he was out of target range. He cast a look round, eyes widening as he saw a group of men running behind them; in the darkness and fog he could not make out the exact number, but at the moment he did not care- he just cared about getting D'artagnan home safe. He had promised him he wouldn't let anything happen to him...

He grunted in fear and pain as another gunshot sounded, making the horse rear again to try and get itself out of range, jolting the cart to the side.

'Steady! Steady!' he cried, but it was no use- the scared animal would now do whatever it took to save itself. Athos' eyes widened as it darted left, into the woods- immediately the cart was stuck, as it's large wheels were unable to go over the roots and between the trees.

His wounded side erupted in pain as he collided with D'artagnan- 'Quickly, into the forest, we need to-' Athos' voice was cut off as they heard shouting coming up rapidly behind them. He roared out in anger and pain as he was grasped round the middle and hauled backwards- he threw his arms out and onto the face and neck of the man who held him, hoping to scratch or pinch him enough to have a few seconds to fight back.

He growled out as the man merely dug his fingers into his sides and renewed his attempt to drag him across the seat- Athos landed on the muddy ground with a cry of pain, before he groaned out as a kick was aimed squarely at his stomach, causing him to roll into himself to counter any more blows.

He looked up as he heard D'artagnan shouting and swearing at the men, before he groaned as he too was hit and dragged forwards to be thrown to the ground next to Athos.

'What have we got here?' a man cried above the din of the other shouting men. He peered down at the two Musketeers, grinning broadly. 'Trying to escape, where you?' he jeered, shaking his head, before bending down and grasping Athos' shirt and dragging into a standing position.

'You thought you could escape us?' he growled, showing yellow teeth.

Athos groaned but said nothing, which seemed to infuriate the man-he threw Athos back to the ground with such force the musketeer almost bounced; his back hit the wheel of the cart, sending a white hot pain through his ribs as he hit the muddy ground again next to D'artagnan.

'Where's the other two?' another man shouted- Athos looked up and saw he was the one who wielded the crossbow.

'Dead,' he muttered, before resting his head on the muddy ground. 'They're dead.' He prayed that this would stop them looking for Aramis and Porthos and let them have a better chance at escape.

'How are you so sure?' the man who dragged him out of the cart growled, stepping closer to him.

'We saw it happen!' D'artagnan replied this time, already catching on, anger in his voice. 'You bastards killed them!'

The Gascon cried out as a boot collided with his side, before another one found his stomach- Athos roared in anger and moved so he was in front of the the younger man as he curled into himself, protecting him with his body as much as he could.

'Touch him again and you'll regret it!' he spat, eyes fiery with anger as he twisted his fingers into D'artagnan's coat.

'Ah, isn't that sweet?' the man jeered, laughing as he walked back to the other men as they stood looking down at the two of them. Athos could now see there was four of them all looking down. 'What are we going to do with them?' He asked, sighing as if this was a particularly troubling conundrum that faced them.

'Suns coming up.' Another man pointed out. D'artagnan moved his head slowly round- sure enough the sky was now slowly taking on a light orange hue. It would be daylight in a few hours.

'Well we best get on with it...' the man muttered, before he and another two men stepped forwards and dragged them upwards into standing positions- Athos growled out and managed to land a punch on the man who was dragging d'artagnan, but that only succeeded in a punch in the gut from the man who was dragging him to this feet.

As they were dragged forwards and into the muddy path the heavens opened once more, sending cold rain and a biting wind into the group of men- the hunters were now shouting out ways to kill them, each suggestion worse than the one before.

'We should gut them like deer!' one man spat.

'Lets drown 'em in the mud!' the man holding Athos cried out as he jeered into his face- Athos had to swallow back the bile as his rancid breath hit his nose.

Both men groaned out and desperately tried to get the men off of them as they were dragged backwards and into the woods. Athos tried to dig his heels into the wet mud and undergrowth to try and get some leverage to fight back- he cried out in pain as his legs were instead kicked from under him, jolting his stitches and ribs, before the man continued to drag him further into the woods.

'Lets do it this way!' the man with the crossbow shouted, and seconds later both musketeers were thrown back onto the wet ground. Athos immediately crawled to d'artagnan's side as the younger man didn't move- with cold hands he tried to rouse him, relief sinking into him as the Gascon finally opened his eyes.

Before Athos could even get a chance to say anything they were both roughly pulled upwards again into kneeling positions, facing away from the group of laughing men.

'Hands on your heads!' the man shouted, pushing D'artagnan in the back as the younger man hesitated. 'Now!'

The Gascon looked sideways to Athos, to assess whether they should do as this madman asked. What he saw scared him- Athos was already looking at him, his face drawn and his eyes wide. Wide with a fear D'artagnan had only ever seen once; he had had the same expression on his face in the seconds before he was going to be executed for a crime he did not commit, back when D'artagnan had first met him.

'I said put your hands up!' The man spat, before putting a boot on Athos' back and forcefully pushing him forwards into the mud. This time Athos said nothing as he painfully, slowly, got back up into a kneeling position.

He slowly lifted his arms into the air, his hands shaking with a mix of cold and fear as he placed his hands on his head and looked straight ahead, into the dark forest beyond them.

Swallowing hard, D'artagnan did the same, and the men laughed and jeered before they started arguing amongst themselves about who would be the one to shoot them.

'D'artagnan,' Athos whispered, his eyes still facing forwards. Rain hit his eyes but he did not blink or move as D'artagnan acknowledged his voice.

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry.' The words were quiet, almost inaudible as the rain lashed down, but to D'artagnan it was if the words had been hollerred in his ears.

'Don't you say that,' the Gascon shook his head, voice threatening to crack. 'It's not your fault.'

'I promised nothing would happen to you.'

'You've been true to your word.' D'artagnan replied with a small shrug. 'You can't help this time- you can only protect all of us so much.'

Athos was just about to open his mouth to reply when there was a shout from behind then followed by the sudden noise of two muskets being readied. They had decided at last, then.

D'artagnan felt himself shake with fear, no matter how much he held himself stiff and tried to breathe through the panic and fear- he looked across at Athos and saw the older man now had his eyes shut.

There was a flick of a match- D'artagnan knew it would not be long now.

Squeezing his eyes shut his stomach churned; he only hoped it would be quick.

Birds cawed and rose form the trees in fright as two gunshots sounded, filling the forest with a deafening noise. Two bodies slumped to the forest floor, their unseeing eyes staring up to the canopy, rain pattering down as a silence descended.

* * *

 **Next chapter up soon! I'm planning for it to be pretty long, so I hope you'll like it!**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**

 **X**


	13. Chapter 13

As they hurried along, all Aramis could hear was their breathing, their footsteps slapping on the damp stony floor and the gentle _plink plink_ of water droplets dripping onto the floor as they passed.

The tunnel was wide but it was still a tight fit with the two of them making their way down the tunnel side by side- in the end Aramis, who held the lantern, had had to walk ever so slightly in front so he could light the way.

He looked across at Porthos as the two of them made their way down the tunnel- the medic could see his friend's face was cut and bruised, and his eyes were twitching as he looked furtively around, trying to spot danger.

He didn't know how far they had managed to get away from the house- he assumed that they were running underneath the forest itself by now. Jack had not sounded certain when he had said that there was a way out of the tunnel, seeing as he had never been down here himself. He hoped and prayed that the old man was right.

'We'll make it out,' he muttered, more to himself than the man next to him, before wincing at how his voice echoed in the confined space. 'I promise.' he added in a whisper as his friend turned to him, a small smile on his face.

'I know we will,' he nodded, before he stopped, flinging out an arm across Aramis' chest. They both listened closely, their eyes wide as they strained their ears.

A splash. Somewhere behind them.

'Could be an animal?' Aramis whispered, hoping against hope it was a rat or some other tunnel dwelling rodent. He turned and angled his arm upwards, but all he could illuminate was a small semi-circle of orange flickering light; anything beyond was swathed in darkness.

Porthos looked up, slowly nodding at his friend's words as he continued to listen- there was no footsteps, no murmuring or echoed voices. 'Could be.' he agreed, before shuddering and wiping a hand down his damp face. 'I don't want to wait around to find out.' he added, before beginning his walk again.

'Right behind you my friend...' Aramis added, before the two of them started walking as fast as they could without making too much noise. Any sort of noise could advertise their whereabouts to anything down here.

As the seconds, and then minutes, trickled silently by, Aramis was beginning to feel more and more anxious- the walls of the tunnel, held up by old wooden struts, seemed to press in on them, making his heart beat faster and his flesh crawl.

He chanced a look up and immediately regretted it- the top part of the tunnel was just packed in dirt, again with a series of wooden beams supporting them. A crumb of dirt fell and hit his cheek, sliding down his face before he brushed it off.

He breathed in deeply as they continued to move through the tunnels- his heart lurched as Porthos suddenly stopped once more, his eyes to the ceiling. 'There!' he whispered, the very noise making Aramis jump despite standing right next to him. He looked up at what Porthos was pointing at and saw a wooden door jutting from the ceiling.

'Quickly...' he muttered, holding the lantern up as Porthos reached upwards on his tiptoes to reach the embedded door. There was a few seconds of grunting and the sound of the handle being moved about, before Porthos moved back down, a dark look on his face.

'It's locked.'

'You're joking?' Aramis cursed his voice as he heard it come out at a higher pitch than he had expected. A panic jolted through him, hot and heavy.

'Fraid' not, Mis.' Porthos shook his head. 'We'll find another one.'

'And what if we don't?'

'It'll be alright A-'

'What if it isn't?' Aramis interjected, shaking his head. 'What if we're trapped down here forever and no one comes to find us? What if Athos and D'artagnan haven't made it out of the forest and they need help and we'll never know because we're stuck down here in this godforsaken tunnel and-'

'Hey, hey, calm down-' Porthos stepped forwards and put a calming hand on his friend's shoulder, noting with concern how much his body was shaking and how cold he felt. 'We'll be alright, Aramis, alright? He muttered, voice low as he nodded at his friend, who was now breathing heavily and struggling for breath. 'You need to breathe, Aramis...' he instructed, concern now enveloping him as Aramis put a hand on his shoulder to help keep him upright.

'It's going to be alright, I promise you we'll get out of here and find Athos and D'artagnan...'

'You can't...promise...that...' Aramis garbled, closing his eyes as panic swirled- he felt the walls of the tunnel press in again, as if the weight of the mud was about to cause a collapse. He blanched at the very thought, before swallowing hard; he heard a deep growling noise to his side. It took him a second to realise it was Porthos, who now had both hands on his shoulders, anchoring him to the spot and was trying to get him to breathe normally.

'Need to get...out of here...' he managed to choke out, eyes wide as he looked around. 'This is a death trap.'

'I promise you I'll get you out of here Aramis but you need to breathe,' Porthos muttered, before taking the lantern from the medic's shaky hand and gently manoeuvring him to the floor. 'Sit down a minute...' he whispered as his friend looked round with wide eyes, his shaking hands resting on his knees.

All that could be heard for a few seconds was Aramis trying to get himself to breathe normally, which was harder than he thought. Every time he looked up or around he imagined the wooden struts bending with the weight of rain and mud and snapping, sending a torrent of suffocating mud on to the two of them, burying them forever. In the end he had to just squeeze his eyes shut and concentrate on breathing in and out, blocking out everything, with Porthos' steady hand on the top of his head; a comforting weight.

Slowly, but surely, the noise of laboured breathing abated into normal breath and the comforting _plink plink_ of the water droplets dripping onto the tunnel floor became the main sound once more.

'You alright?' Porthos whispered from above him, voice soft and concern-filled.

'I am now,' Aramis nodded. He was as alright as he could be given the circumstances, at least. He clambered up, his heart still beating fast as he looked around again. 'We should keep moving.'

'Good idea,' Porthos nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder as he handed him the lantern once more. 'After you.' he said, chuckling as Aramis took the lantern with a good natured eye roll, and together the two of them continued their walk, looking upwards to find any door and hoping it would be unlocked.

* * *

The forest seemed to come alive as the two men died. Men suddenly shouted and hollered, tripping over themselves as they hurried for weapons and escape. Horses squealed and roared, their thunderous hooves making the ground vibrate as D'artagnan turned, ignoring his shoulder as it erupted in pain. The world seemed to move in slow-motion as he looked down at the two dead hunters that were sprawled on the muddy ground, their unseeing eyes staring into the scant morning light.

He looked up as the cacophony of shouts began again as the remaining two hunters desperately tried to make an escape as the horses rode around; the men atop them held their blades expertly, with one man leading the group, his face set in fury at the scene before him.

D'artagnan felt a hand encircle his forearm, pulling him closer as if to make sure he was alright and to protect him from the sudden onslaught of noise and movement- Athos looked him up and down, the relief plain in his eyes as the older man saw he had not been hit.

The rain slowly started to peter out and a red sun dawned, casting orange light onto the scene of destruction. As Captain Treville dismounted his black horse the two Musketeers heard a shout of alarm from somewhere to their right- one of the hunters had picked up a knife and was slashing it in the face of the nearest Musketeer, who managed to duck the blows before stabbing the man with his own blade, sending him to the floor where he twitched for a few seconds before lying still.

Athos was on his feet in seconds, eyes scanning the misty forest for the last man who had almost executed them- he swore when he saw he had obviously made a run for it. No doubt to warn the others that a good portion of the Musketeer regiment was now on their doorstep.

Treville was at their sides immediately, the rage-induced expression on his face slowly melting into horror and concern as he took in the state of his two men. 'I got worried when you didn't return from the mission..' he started, before helping D'artagnan to his feet as the younger man struggled. 'We managed to retrace your steps and when we heard all the noise we followed it to this-' he motioned the scene around them with his hands, eyes wide.

'I can't believe...' he faltered, shaking his head in horror as he looked at the younger man, at the bandaged wound on his shoulder and his other assorted injuries from the night. 'Who did this? Who were those men?'

'The people here, they do it as a hobby,' Athos growled as he stepped closer to their leader. His legs were shaky, his chest erupting in anger and a dizzying relief in a way that made him feel sick. 'They're all in on it.'

'Everyone?' Treville asked, mouth slightly open as he took in this news. 'How? Why?'

'They've been doing it for generations, we-' Athos stopped, eyes widening. He turned back to the way they had come from, his stomach turning to lead once more. _Aramis and Porthos were still out there._

'We have to go back-' he muttered, wincing as he starting striding back through the forest. 'We have to go and get Aramis and Porthos.'

'You're not going anywhere- Pierre will lead you both out and we will go and get them, and arrest these bastards.' Treville ordered as he and D'artagnan walked behind him.

'You make sure D'artagnan gets out- I'm not leaving here without them.' Athos shouted back, before he stooped and picked up a forgotten musket from one of the dead men. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his side he fumbled in the dead man's pockets and found ammunition and matches.

'I told you we will get them out.' Treville said from beside him- Athos almost jumped in shock, as he hadn't realised he was so close.

'I understand, but I'm not going to go and wait for news when I can help- ' he growled. Treville had no idea what the four of them had been through this past night. He jerked his head in a direction up ahead of them. 'The whole damn village is probably in on it, and you let one escape- that means they know we're coming. I need to make sure we get Porthos and Aramis out...I promised them I'd get them help.'

Treville put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. 'D'artagnan can hardly walk, he-'

'Get him out safe,' Athos said, eyes crossing to the younger man, who gave him a tired, weary smile. 'We need to go now if we have any chance of reaching them before those bastards do...'

'Alright-' Treville nodded, looking behind Athos and motioning for his men to follow.

'Do you want to take a horse?'

'No, it will attract too much attention- I can walk fine.' Athos lied, as he could already feel a burning pain in his side.

' We'll take one and have it walk behind us- we may need it for some reason...' The Captain muttered anyway, before taking a deep breath. 'Alright- lets go.' He ordered, and together he and their fellow Musketeers made their way through the forest, back towards the hell where it had all started. Athos could only hope that they were not already too late.

* * *

After encountering the fourth locked door embedded in the ceiling even Porthos started to panic, although he was careful not to show it too much- he could see Aramis getting more and more agitated as he tried each door. He had no idea how long they had been walking, or how much time had passed- his mind flickered to Athos and D'artagnan... he wondered if they had managed to get out of the forest safely, if they were now raising an alarm. He hoped so.

His breaths echoed against the walls, and he was now getting more than sick of the stench of dirt and damp; he could almost taste it.

'Nearly there...' he whispered, knowing he was lying but saying it anyway. He heard Aramis snort softly beside him, and knew that the other man knew he was lying. It was just something comforting to say amid the panic.

'What if there isn't away out?' Aramis voice was calm now. Matter of fact.

'Then we go back,' Porthos could see no other solution. 'We go back and try to find a way back through the forest.'

'But it's surely daytime now- we'll never make it back withou-'

'Aramis please, lets cross that bridge when we come to it, eh?'

'Yes.' Aramis muttered, voice low. 'Sorry.' he added, to which Porthos chuckled and shook his head. 'Don't apologise, I-' he stopped as he spied another door, its handle rusty. He looked across to the medic, who gave him a hopeful smile.

'Fifth time lucky?' the bigger man shrugged, before standing on his tiptoes and grasping the handle in his hand. His heart lurched as it twisted perfectly; he pushed the door upwards, wincing a little as it slammed onto the ground and the noise echoed. He stepped back, triumphant, to which Aramis chuckled and shook his hand. 'Quickly, lets get out of here...' he muttered, looking around and shuddering.

'Right- I'll go first...' Porthos reasoned, trying to be logical. 'If I go up first I can take a look around and warn of any trouble...plus you don't really want to try and pull me out of this damn hole!'

'Porthos you are a true friend, have I ever told you that?' Aramis smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

'Once or twice, yes...' Porthos winked, before he looked up at the hole- he could see clouds floating lazily past an orange sky. Morning had come, then.

'Right...' he muttered, before groaning as he began hauling himself out through the door. As he brought his legs out and rolled onto the damp grass he looked around- he inwardly cursed as he saw they were still well and truly in the forest. He only hoped that they were now closer to help, or help was coming soon.

'Is the coast clear?' Aramis muttered from below him.

'All clear.' Porthos nodded, before standing up and crouching to help Aramis up and out of the hole.

The two men stood and looked around- Aramis stood with his hands on his hips, squinting a little in the sunshine. 'Have we actually moved at all?' he asked lightly. 'Because it looks like we haven't moved at all.'

Porthos sighed and kicked the door of the tunnel back into place. 'All forest looks the same, I suppose.' he reasoned, to which Aramis nodded.

'I suppose so...what do we do now?'

'We look for a road.' Porthos muttered, and together the two men started walking forwards, looking around for any signs of trouble.

Now the sun was slowly rising into the sky Aramis could appreciate the beauty of the forest- a large carpet of bluebells covered the forest floor, illuminating the scene. Birds chirruped in the trees, unaware of the horrors that had happened the previous night.

The grass beneath their feet was laced with dew, and the sweet scent of blooms caught in his nose as they made their way down a muddy slope and back into a thicker patch of forest that was still swathed in an early morning mist.

He stopped, putting an arm across Porthos' chest as he looked up ahead- two men were walking in their direction, weapons in hand. The two musketeers ducked into the trees, each man taking a different tree as they tried to blend in.

As the men came closer Aramis held his breath, hoping the hunters didn't linger. Seconds later he got his wish, as the two men, none the wiser on who they had passed, continued their walk past them.

Aramis looked across to Porthos, who smiled in relief. Quietly, the two men carefully picked their way through the forest, trying to be as silent as they could.

Aramis stepped closer to the bigger man, and had just opened his mouth when they heard a gunshot from somewhere behind them- eyes wide, the two men ducked and started running away from the source. It wasn't quick enough.

Aramis shouted out in alarm as he was grabbed around the middle, before he and the man who grabbed him sprawled onto the ground, knocking the wind from the medic as he tried to fend off the attack. He turned as soon as he hit the floor, kicking out and punching at the hunter as the other man straddled him, his dirty hands reaching for purchase before he punched Aramis in the face, sending his head to the side, dazed.

There was a roar of anger from somewhere above them; the hunter looked up and before he was wrenched away from him by his throat, Aramis saw his eyes widen in alarm. Porthos slammed the man to the ground on his back, eyes alight with fury.

Aramis lay on the muddy grass and shook his head from the pain that erupted in his temple as his fellow Musketeer landed a punch to the side of the man's head, knocking him back to the forest floor.

'And stay down!' he shouted, noting with a thrill of horror that he didn't have a weapon on him. The man, of course, did no such thing- he was on his feet in seconds, taking out a rusted blade from his pocket and brandishing it with a sinister smile.

'I'm warning ya!' Porthos yelled out, hands out and clenched into fists as the man came closer. He now had no objection to beating him into submission, if that was what it took.

'You think you can take me on?' the hunter growled; his copper-coloured hair was peppered with dirt and there was a rivet of blood running down his face. 'You think you can kill me?'

Porthos did not answer- he was now past caring about their farcical games and refused to be drawn in.

'Your friends are dead, you know...' the man goaded, circling Porthos, the blade in his fist. 'Died squealing like a couple of pigs,' the man chuckled, 'bled like them too.'

Aramis staggered to his feet, rubbing his jaw as Porthos took in a deep shuddering breath. 'You're lying...' he growled, shaking his breath.

'You think so?' the hunter shrugged. 'You'll be joining them soon enough,' he added, before running at Porthos. The Musketeer was no stranger to single, man to man combat, and this man, despite his madness and the rusty knife in his hands, held no more threat to him in his mind than a simple drunk reveller in the Paris streets.

He easily stepped aside as the man ran at him, before twisting and grabbing the hunter by the upper arm, swinging him across and off his feet. He hit the floor with a cry of alarm, the blade dropping from his hand as he struggled back to his feet; he roared out, arms out as he ran at Porthos and pushed the bigger man, obviously hoping to knock him off his feet.

Porthos was wise to this trick and was ready for it; he countered the man's blow with a punch of his own, knocking the man off his trajectory. The man slipped on the mud, going down hard onto one knee- Porthos stepped forwards with purpose, his eyes dark as he raised his fist and delivered the knock-out blow. The man sank to the ground, out cold.

Aramis let out a shaky breath, wiping a hand down his face as the forest went quiet again. Porthos looked up at him, squinting slightly in the sunlight, before he let out a relieved chuckle. 'At least we've got one to arrest now,' he muttered, nodding tersely at the man on the floor next to him.

'That is if we get out of here...' Aramis replied, before both men looked up as they heard footsteps and people talking from somewhere up ahead.

Porthos stepped forwards, putting a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he peered into the distance. His heart sank as he saw a group of more than twenty figures walking towards them.

'Come on, give us a damn break!' he growled, panic rising in his chest. He stepped back a little, preparing to move back into the forest to try to evade the onslaught, when his eyes caught a flash of blue.

As the group of men came closer and closer he saw more blue- he let out a relieved laugh as it finally dawned on him who these men were.

'Aramis- looks like the cavalry have arrived!' he grinned, his heart soaring as the men came ever closer and he saw Treville. His smile widened impossibly more as he then saw the man limping on beside him. _Athos_. The bigger man closed his eyes briefly as he saw their leader staunchly marching as he led the Garrison towards them. 'Athos is with them- he looks alright!' he reported back to Aramis, who was still stood next to the forest.

The Medic closed his own eyes in relief, crossing himself before lifting his crucifix to his lips with shaky hands. 'Thank God...' he whispered. It was finally over.

He stepped forwards to stand beside Porthos when he suddenly heard the crack of a branch from the section of forest to Portho's left.

His eyes widened as he saw a man stepping out of the trees, a gun in his arms and a smile on his face. The Musketeer's heart lurched- there had been two men who had passed them in the trees just now, not one...

'PORTHOS LOOK OUT!' he roared, rushing forwards, an arm out to push his friend out of the way. There was a bang as the man fired- Porthos blinked, confused, as he was roughly pushed to the side. There was a grunt of pain in front of him and a figure hit the ground, clutching at his stomach.

'Aramis!' he yelled, before looking back up as the man readied his gun again. He didn't have time to go and disarm him- there was a loud bang and a flash of scarlet as the man was thrown backwards by a bullet of his own, his body tangling in a thorn bush on the way down.

Athos threw down his smoking weapon as he fell to his knees along with Porthos next to Aramis, who was pale as snow, his hands red with blood as he tried to staunch the blood-flow.

'It's alright, you're going to be alright...' he muttered, hands pressing on the wound, trying to ignore the hiss of pain from his best friend. Aramis looked up at the words, a smile forming despite his pain. 'You're a-alive then?' he muttered, his teeth chattering.

'It would seem so,' Athos nodded with a small smile. 'Now hush, just lay back...' he muttered, before looking up as Treville came over to them, eyes wide with concern. 'We need to get back to Paris,' Athos told him, to which their Captain nodded and quickly called for a horse to be brought forwards.

They both looked down as Aramis cried out in pain, his face screwing in pain as he tried his best to grit his teeth against the agony; he tightly fisted his hands into the ground, drawing up lines of mud with his fingers as he groaned out again. His tunic and shirt were saturated in scarlet; blood ran into the grass, staining it crimson.

The two men looked at each other, the same dark thought running through their minds at the same time. _Would Aramis make it back to Paris in time?_

 **Well, when I said this chapter would be extra-long, I didn't quite expect it to hit 4k words...oops! Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Two more chapters remaining!**

 **Please review, I'd love to know your thoughts!**


	14. Chapter 14

Three days later...

Aramis woke up slowly, wiping sleep-encrusted eyes with his sleeve as dappled morning light shone into the room from the thin curtains next to his bed. He lay there for a few moments, confused at where he was and how he had got there. By the cloying smell of bottled antiseptic, and the muffled sounds of screams and moans echoing around the corridors, he could positively guess he was in hospital.

He couldn't remember much; his brain felt fuzzy, as if it was stuffed with cotton. He vaguely recalled leaning against Athos' chest as the horse galloped towards home, but the main feeling was an overpowering agony, seared into his memory like a brand.

He put a hand on his stomach under the covers; the bandage was tight, the pain a low throb as he ran his fingertips down the linen. He remembered his stomach being on fire, each footfall of the horse sending him jolting agonisingly backwards and forwards, with only Athos' arm around his chest to stop him from falling off entirely.

'Finally awake then?' A familiar voice reached his ears from somewhere to his left; he turned his head, a weak smile escaping him as he saw Athos in the bed next to him, propped up on his pillows, his face bruised and cut-ridden.

'Yes,' he nodded, before trying to sit up a little and failing miserably. He settled for awkwardly leaning on one elbow, turned to Athos' side.

His friend smiled back, eyes looking him up and down. 'The nurses weren't very optimistic that you would wake up at all, but I had faith.'

'Really?' Aramis frowned. Had he really been that close to death?

'Oh yes,' Athos nodded with a sigh. 'They said if we hadn't of reached the hospital when we did the infection would have been much worse and you would have succumbed within the hour.'

Aramis let out a low, surprised snort- 'Oh...' was all he could think to whisper. He looked around, catching sight of another man in a bed opposite the two of them, sleeping soundly.

'D'artagnan,' Athos muttered, following his gaze. 'He was much the same as you, apart from it was hypothermia that almost claimed him,'

'How long was I out for?' The Medic asked, looking to the blue sky outside.

'About three days in all,' Athos muttered, leaning back on his pillows with a small groan; his stomach cried out in pain, but at least it was on the mend.

'Three days...' Aramis echoed, before he sat up, gasping in pain. 'What about those hunters?' he asked, face paling as he looked to the door. 'Have they been tried yet?'

'Relax, Mis',' Athos soothed, sitting up. 'The trial has been set for seven days time- I have given Treville assurance that all four of us will be in attendance.'

'Good- I want to make sure they get what they deserve-' both men looked up as they heard deep footsteps from the corridor outside. The door banged open and in strolled Porthos, arms laden with brown paper bags- his tired, worn face erupted into a joyful smile when he saw Aramis was awake.

'Can't tell you how long I've waited to see those baby-blues open again!' he teased, walking over to his friend and sitting on the bed, carefully putting the paper bags on the blankets.

'Its good to see you again, too!' smiled Aramis, eyes twinkling now he knew for sure his three friends were safe and on the mend. 'What have you got there?' he asked, pointing to the bags. Porthos looked across to Athos, who had just opened his mouth to reply when they all heard more footsteps from outside- quick as a flash Porthos threw a spare blanket over the bags, covering them from view just as a matron came in, her eyes casting around the room.

'Breakfast will be in ten minutes,' she said, a kind smile on her face as she looked at Aramis. 'Ah, you're awake- excellent. I'll have the doctor come and assess you shortly.' she added, before stepping back out of the room and snapping the door shut behind her.

'That was too close...' a voice muttered from the other side of the room as Porthos carefully moved the blankets away from the bags again. D'artagnan sat up gingerly, a tired smile on his face. 'You better not have squashed my buns!'

'Relax, lad- your buns are quite safe!' the bigger man chuckled, reaching into the bag and pulling out two icing covered buns, a cherry atop each; he got up and passed them to the Gascon, who grinned and licked his lips as he placed them on his bed.

'And for Athos...' Porthos muttered, delving into another bag of smuggled goods and producing a bunch of grapes, a small bottle of wine and a small fruit loaf.

'You, my friend, are a lifesaver..' Athos chuckled, accepting them with a smile as he hid the bottle behind his pillow.

'Well, can't have you lot starving to death on hospital food, can I?' Porthos laughed, before turning back to Aramis and squashing the paper bags. 'Sorry mate, but you weren't awake when I took their orders!'

'No matter, its fine,' Aramis chuckled, before grinning as a grape hit him in the shoulder before it landed on his lap. 'Cheers!' he thanked Athos, before popping it in his mouth.

They sat in a companionable silence, save for the sounds of Athos eating his grapes and D'artagnan licking his fingers as he polished off his iced buns.

'So, how many were arrested?' Aramis asked, mind already wandering back to the previous events.

'Twelve,' Athos replied, a dark tone to his voice. 'Most had made a run for it as soon as they knew we were coming, but we caught some as they were running away.'

'Not enough,' Porthos growled, shaking his head. 'Should've rounded up the whole lot...'

'We caught the ringleader though, didn't we?' D'artagnan muttered, wiping his sticky fingers on his blankets. 'That man in the red coat?'

Porthos and Athos exchanged glances- Aramis was the one to see the look pass between them from his angle. 'What?' he asked into the silence. 'We didn't get him?'

'Treville personally searched the land around the farm...' Porthos muttered, eyes dark. 'No sign.'

Aramis sighed deep in his throat, trying- and failing- to withhold his feelings of disappointment.

'The regiment and the Red Guards are searching for the rest of them,' Athos added, popping another grape into his mouth before chewing thoughtfully. 'They'll find them Mis,'

'I hope so...' Aramis growled in reply, before lying back on his pillows with a small groan. He closed his eyes, a tiredness filling him as he'd never felt before. He felt the weight of the bed decrease as Porthos got off, but he had drifted back off to sleep before he could ask where he went.

* * *

The three Musketeers spent the next two days resting and recuperating- on the third day each of them made sure they were up out of their beds and moving around. Treville was loathe to let them leave the hospital for their quarters because of the extensiveness of their wounds- a few choice words from a bored and frustrated Athos soon turned his mind round, and the three of them were able to go home to finish resting before the trial.

D'artagnan was happy to spend those days doing as little as possible- his shoulder burned from any over-exertion, so he made sure that he was lifting heavy objects little and often to ensure he did not lose the strength in it. Constance was happy to tend to him at her house- what neither of them expected was the nightmares that the Gascon started to have the night he came home.

From her bed with her Husband beside her, Constance could hear the sounds of D'artagnan thrashing around in his bed, low moans escaping him before there was a final shout and silence fell once more. Seconds later she heard his bedroom door open, followed by his boot-falls down the stairs before the front door snapped shut- she would not see him until later the next morning.

Athos was faring no better- Porthos, who made a point of visiting each of his friends multiple times a day after his various duties had ended, had to bite his tongue often when he saw the small mountain of empty wine bottles stacked on the floor in the swordsman's kitchen.

He knew it wasn't his place to question Athos- hell, he himself was certainly drinking more ale than he used to...it stopped him seeing the shadows around every corner, or to stop being afraid when he heard a rumble of thunder during the rainy nights. Besides, it would only make Athos angry, and he most certainly didn't want to do that.

Instead he asked if he was alright, accepting the lie he knew Athos was feeding him when he answered 'fine.' The dark circles under puffy eyes and the pallid skin showed Porthos that his friend was not fine at all.

He knew it was the upcoming trial that was having this effect on everyone- he only hoped that once it was all complete then he and his friends could get some closure.

The person he was most worried about, however, was Aramis. He knew his friend had survived trauma whilst out in the open before; Savoy was still a no-go subject between them. Likewise, the medic had now completely shut down from the events of that night- he never mentioned it, and left the room when D'artagnan or Athos spoke about it when they were all together.

He took long walks at night, before reappearing at Porthos' door to walk with him to the Garrison, where he spent the day cleaning boots and weapons; his gunshot wound meant it was many weeks before he was back to full strength enough to go on other missions. He could just about do some guard duties, but Treville did not want to push him too much.

Porthos speculated that the only reason his friend walked with him to the Garrison was to make sure nothing happened to him on the walk there- he didn't know why Aramis seemed to blame himself, but let him do whatever made him feel at peace.

What Aramis didn't know what that Porthos also kept watch on him, coming by his house at night on the way home from guard duties up at the palace...he just liked to make sure his friend was alright.

Aramis knew Porthos meant well; he knew he was suffering just as much as any of them. That was why he made sure he walked him to work each morning, and kept a silent watch on him from afar when he was running errands or up at the Palace. He felt responsible for his safety, and for the safety of Athos and D'artagnan; one night, when he was in the throes of a nightmare that coupled the events of that night with thick snow and an army of men, his brain and filtered back to the conversation that they had had before they headed down that path, when Aramis had convinced them all he had found the best shortcut.

He woke up with the realisation that all of the events that had transpired after he had made that fateful decision was his fault- he had spent a good portion of the rest of that night vomiting, a guilt trickling into his very soul, to add to the immense weight of Savoy.

The day of the trial dawned cold and misty- each Musketeer pulled on their finest uniforms and met each other in the city square before walking slowly to the Palace. The King, once he had heard what had befallen some of his Musketeers, had ordered the trial to take place in one of his rooms; he had had carpenters make cages and benches just for the occasion, and word had soon got round- the room was packed, with Treville and their fellow Musketeers keeping order as the inseparables sat heavily off to the side.

They were expected to give evidence during the proceedings, and none of them were looking forward to reliving the events. Each of the twelve men who had hunted them like beasts were brought in- to save time and the upheaval of asking the same questions twelve times the men were brought in all at once.

Aramis felt D'artagnan take in a juddering breath and stiffen slightly as the men were tied to the cage, their handcuffs clinking together as they jostled for space. The noise set each men's teeth on edge, and Athos felt nausea creep into his stomach at the mere sound. He swallowed it back- they had to be professional now.

The trial lasted four long, harrowing days. Each Musketeer stood facing the hunters as they gave their evidence, their voices wavering slightly but not breaking as they recounted the events of that night. Their eyes remained on the judge; they did not even waver when the men began taunting them, mocking their words and laughing as they relayed what had happened. Athos found it the hardest to not answer them back; he balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into the skin of his palms as the men's words drifted over the courtroom.

Treville stood to the side as they derided D'artagnan as he gave his evidence; his fingers were curled around his gun, itching to use it. If he didn't already know he'd be sentenced to death for it he'd gladly put each of these bastards down right now; instead all he could do was put a hand on the Gascon's shoulder as he sat down shakily beside him and give it a comforting squeeze.

The interest in the case had one effect none of them could imagine- by the second day people started arriving at the trial to give their own stories; parents, their faces lined with worry about missing children, older brothers and sisters who had spent their lives looking for lost siblings. Stablehands, shopkeepers and farmers who had witnessed strange noises and goings-on at night around the area that the 'hunts' were taking place.

In the end, the evidence was damning. Each of the twelve men were sentenced to hang the very next day. There had been loud cheers in the gallery when the sentence was passed out- the Musketeer regiment were of course, too professional to react with such jubilation, but Treville knew that each of his man were ecstatic and relieved with the news; he turned to the four he was most worried about, and felt his own heart soar as he saw they had smiles on their faces for the first time in days.

A look of relief seemed to spread from one to the other; their shoulders sagged and their battered and bruised faces seemed to calm; Treville could only hope this would give them some peace now.

They had filed from the court room in silence, and the Captain watched as the four of them walked together down the square and into Paris' streets, presumably to the nearest tavern.

* * *

Aramis was restless- it was just after dawn on the day of the executions, and he had hardly slept at all the previous night. His legs fired with nerves and he knew they would not settle until he had walked some tiredness into them. He shut the door to his rooms as quietly as he could and made his way through the silent city streets; the world was just coming to life, but it was still quiet enough so he could enjoy some peace.

He thought of visiting Athos- he knew full well that his friend couldn't sleep, despite his rooms being ten minutes away. He decided against it as he walked the boundaries of the Palace; dew dampened his trousers and a mist clouded his vision as he looked to his right and caught sight of the low brick building jutting out by a small river. The dungeon.

A peculiar sort of feeling enveloped him- curiousness, he supposed, but more than anything he wanted to see the men who had put he and his friends through so much pain for no sane reason at all. He didn't have to stay long, he told himself as he crossed the lawns. He didn't need to speak to them, or even let them know he was there.

The steps that led down the dungeons for the condemned were high and made of a slippery sort of stone- once or twice he almost lost his footing and had to shove his fingertips painfully into any hole or crack in the brickwork that he could find to stop himself tumbling down. It smelt disgusting down here, he thought as he wrinkled his nose- the stench of vomit, urine and other unmentionables wafted in the air like a cloud, and despite the early hour the screams of the tortured began filtering through the building.

He crossed the last step and came into a low ceilinged area that housed Frederic, the resident keeper of the condemned, as he liked to call himself. He gave Aramis a low nod and offered him the great leather bound book he kept on a wooden stand near the door- it was a sort of visitor's log, and helped Frederic count the comings and goings of the dungeon.

'I'm not exactly on...official business...' Aramis muttered, shaking his head.'So I'd rather not.'

Frederic gave him an understanding smile. 'Don't go starting any trouble,' he warned, before motioning that he could go through.

'Me? Trouble?'Aramis gave him a small smile. 'I don't know what you mean.'

Frederic laughed at that, rolling his eyes- Aramis always found the people in the most horrible-sounding professions always had the kindest hearts. 'Alright- once you're in can you tell the lady to come away? She's been here an hour already.'

'Lady?' Aramis frowned, but said no more as he crossed the room and into the shadows of the main dungeon. He stayed to the darkest areas; he had no intention of getting into conversation with these men. He just wanted to see them, he didn't know why.

He peered into the gloom, and sure enough he saw a woman stood by the window- she was bent double, handing one of the twelve men a drink from a large canteen of wine or water; Aramis could not tell- he accidentally kicked a stone, sending it skittering into the middle of the room. The woman looked up, wrenched the canteen away from the man and immediately walked towards him and to the door- as she stepped forwards a cacophony of shouts and yells filled the air behind her.

A sudden panic filled the Musketeer as his mind was immediately cast back to that night, where he and Athos had run for their lives away from the very men who were shouting. He fumbled for the wall and as soon as the woman passed him he followed, wiping sweaty palms on his trousers as he did so.

Frederic looked up as the two of them passed, but said nothing- as the door slammed he turned to his leather-bound tome, his peacock quill hovering over the yellow pages as he blocked out the sound of screams around him.

Outside, Aramis could barely keep up with the woman she strode through the covered pathways; his stomach wound started to protest and he knew if he overdid it he would be spending the next week in bed recovering.

'Wait, my lady!' he called instead- he was curious to know who she was, and why she left as soon as he arrived. To her credit, the woman did stop and wait for him; Aramis walked gingerly next to her, coming to a stop in front of her as she looked up at him, eyes defiant.

It was the woman from the farm, the woman who had given them bread in the barn and had tended to D'artagnan's shoulder wound. 'I...I...' Aramis stammered; he had no idea what say. He had no idea how to feel. By rights, she should be incarcerated alongside each man in that dungeon...but she had helped them.

As he stood there, totally conflicted, Ella smiled sadly at him, her fingers laced round the large empty canteen. 'I had to see them one last time,' she explained, her voice warm but authoritative. 'I had to give them my goodbyes.'

'You should not be here,' Aramis muttered, looking around. 'If you were to be seen they will lock you up as well-'

'I never took part in any of their madness-'

'No but you stood by and watched it happen!'Aramis growled, voice harder than he meant.

'If I had done anything do you think they would have not killed me?' Ella replied, voice equally as harsh. 'I helped as much as I could- if I escaped that would only bring me back.'

'Escaped?' Aramis echoed. A horrible realisation dawned. 'You were a prisoner there as much as us.'

Ella looked at him sadly, before a real smile appeared on her lined face. 'But not any more- I am free from them at last.' She looked up at him again, searching his features. 'But you- you are a man of honour...' she breathed in deeply, pulling her cloak tighter around her. 'Your mind tells you to hand me in; I can see it in your eyes.'

Aramis looked up as he heard someone shout his name- Porthos, on the other side of the grounds. He looked down at Ella, a smile now on his lips. 'I am not going to hand you in, my lady,' he said, voice softer now. He put a hand on her shoulder. 'I can see you have suffered greatly, and I hope today will bring you the solace that you need,' he added, to which Ella nodded her agreement.

'Go, and be free from this madness.' he finished, before watching as Ella tucked the empty canteen into her cloaks and walked away, down the corridor and into the bustle of the waking city.

* * *

Noon. The time of the execution was upon the city- hundreds had turned out, gathered in the square, tightly packed and crowding around to get a good view.

Athos, D'artagnan, Portos and Aramis stood on a raised platform alongside Treville and some others from their regiment; the wind whipped at their faced and a thin rain was coming down, soaking them to the bone. It was a fitting end, Athos mused as he wiped his cold cheeks with a gloved hand. He watched as each of the twelve men were brought out, their shackles jingling again as their made their slow ascent up the wooden steps to the gallows.

It was quite unheard of to have twelve prisoners executed at once, but again the King had made an exception. The square suddenly erupted with shouts and jeers from the crowds, as was customary at a public execution.

Small children fought to get to the front, and many people were jostling around to be able to see the men as the executioner came forwards, a collection of black hoods in his arms.

Aramis looked on, his face impassive as he watched the executioner come up the stairs and walk to the far side of the gallows. A spokesman came forwards- it was his job to announce the proceedings, but often his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of the crowd; they were only here to see one thing, after all- in this case, twelve things.

It was as the spokesman was finishing his speech and the executioner was coming up, hoods in hand, when the first groans were heard from the gallows. Guttural choking seemed to posses each of the condemned men- they all threw their bound hands to their throats, their eyes bulging as they clawed at their necks. Some fell to their knees; others stood stock still, screaming out and moaning as a red foam started erupting in the corners of their mouths. D'artagnan stepped forwards a little, eyes wide as all five men took in the scene.

'What's happening?' he asked the platform at large, turning to Aramis when he got no answer. 'Aramis what's happening?'

'I...' Aramis' mind was whirling sickeningly in his head as he looked to the twelve men- as the seconds passed each man dropped to the wooden platform, hands still fixed to their throats, the knotted ropes now swinging, unneeded, above their heads...

* * *

The doctors finally ruled that it had been a slow-acting poison that had done it, probably administered hours before the execution. None of the Musketeers knew what to think, but at least it was over.

Athos stared into the fire of the tavern they had found themselves in a few hours later- it was just outside of the city, so there was only a few people in there. They had commandeered the largest scrubbed wooden table and pushed it next to the fire; now they were sitting in silence, drinking their wine together.

D'artagnan wiped his hand down his tired face, putting his cup down with a sigh. 'So that's it then,' he spoke into the pregnant silence. 'No justice after all.'

'They met their ends after a trial,' Athos muttered, draining his cup and pouring some more. 'How much more justice do you want?'

'I don't know, I guess I just wanted...I wanted them to hang for it, I suppose.' D'artagnan muttered, shrugging.

'Well they're gone, and that's that.' Porthos said, hand curled around an ale tankard. He looked across to Aramis, who was staring into the fire. 'Hey,' he muttered, nudging his knee with his own. 'You alright?'

'Hmm?' Aramis muttered, before smiling tiredly at his friend. 'I'm fine- been a long day..'

'You can say that again-' Athos muttered.

'I'm fine- been a long day.' Aramis smiled, chuckling as Athos rolled his eyes. He saw a smile creep into d'artagnan's face a little- it felt good to see them all smile again.

'Now we've just got to try and put this behind us.' he muttered, taking a draught from his wine and wiping his face.

'That's going to be easy..' D'artagnan muttered sarcastically, before sighing.

'Hey-' Athos put a hand on his shoulder. 'We'll get through this, lad,' he muttered, nodding at him. 'Don't hide your feelings- come and talk to us. We'll get through it together.'

Suddenly, Aramis stood up, a strange smile on his face. 'Gentleman, I believe this round is mine,' he announced, before smiling as the other three looked up at him, nonplussed.

'Don't you remember?' he muttered, before giving a mock-sigh as each man shook his head. 'Don't you remember I promised that if my shortcut through the woods didn't work out then the first round would be on me?'

Porthos snorted into his ale- Athos grinned as he emerged, foam in his beard. 'That's right!' the larger man chuckled, before looking round the table. 'How about another two pitchers of wine and some of that nice crusty bread they've got at the bar?' he grinned, barking out a laugh as Aramis threw his hat at him on his way to the bar.

It was good to see everyone smiling again, Athos mused as he sat back, letting the warm fire heat his tired bones. He knew it would take many days for them all to get back to a semblance of normality- but as long as they had each other, he knew they would all be just fine.

 **Another unintentionally long chapter- I hope you liked it! ^^**

 **Only the epilogue to go now, then this tale is over!**

 **Please review, I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter!**

 **A/N- I have a new poll on my profile; if you could take a look that would be great...it may sway my decision on a future fic!**

 **X**


	15. Epilogue

When Jed went back to his family home, the place was silent. As he stepped inside the wooden house, shutting the door behind him with a snap, he thought it looked more like the skeleton of a house than an actual home.

The rooms were bare save for handmade dressers and tables, with an old, crooked rocking chair in the far corner, looking out the window to the forest beyond.

His boots tapped on the wooden flooring as he walked to the kitchen, and in the scant morning light he could see holes and rotted portions in the surface; nails stuck out and he spotted one or two beetles scuttling about, vanishing under a skirting board with flaking black paint on it.

Throwing his scarlet coat onto the scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room he stepped to the far wall, which housed the pantry. He had to get out of here.

He heard a noise somewhere outside; probably a bird or a rabbit running around, he told himself. His skin prickled in anticipation as he pulled a burlap sack from his inner pocket and began emptying the contents of the pantry into it. He was going to be on the road for a long while, he guessed- enough time to get out of the area. Perhaps time to get out of France itself.

He had only now plucked up enough courage to come back to prepare to leave; life in the woods was harder that he had thought.

He couldn't believe what had happened- he cast his mind back to that night. It seemed like years ago, but he he supposed it could only have been a matter of weeks since he'd watched his Father and eleven of those idiots being dragged out by those other Musketeers.

He'd hidden behind a tree as they took them out, throwing his coat into the undergrowth so it didn't attract attention. He'd watched as they'd all struggled; as his Father was hauled out their eyes had connected.

Jed had pulled back, hands tightly gripped around the tree as his Father locked eyes with him; he opened his mouth, and Jed's heart had dropped into his stomach. He was going to sell him out. He knew it; he and his Father had never got along, and Jed was sure he was about to yell that he was over by the tree, to arrest him too. In the end, though, his Father shut his mouth and allowed himself to be dragged outside, not making a sound.

There was a creak above him- Jed stopped and looked up, but there was no other noise. It was just an old house, he told himself. His mind turned to his Mother; he hadn't seen or heard from her since that night. He wondered where she was, what had happened to her. He didn't dwell on it.

As Jed threw a loaf of bread onto the top of the bag he stood up, ears working like a hound. The front door had opened.

He placed the sack onto the ground and delved back into his pocket as a new noise pricked his ears- what was it? It was a strange noise, but he knew it was coming closer.

 _Step, Step, Tap. Step, step, tap._

He drew out the knife he kept in his pocket, thumbing the blade. He wasn't afraid, had no reason to be. This was his house.

 _Step, step, tap. Step, step, tap._

He tensed, but didn't turn around. He hadn't been careful enough, he told himself.

The noise stopped, and the house fell silent.

'You shouldn't have come back here.' a voice said, oddly familiar. Jed racked his brains to remember- when he did he had to stop himself snorting. All worry and anxiety fled him. He drew the blade closer to his hand, hiding it from sight as he walked over to the window, still not looking behind him.

'The whole of Paris is looking for you and you choose to return here.' The voice said, a darkness to his tone. 'Foolish boy.'

Jed snorted now, shaking his head. 'What makes you think I'm alone?' he asked, staring out to the woods.

'No one with half a brain-cell is stupid enough to return to the scene of their crime...' the voice replied tersely, before he heard it again as the man moved further into the room. _Step, step, tap._

'We've been watching the house- we knew you'd return eventually.'

'We?' Jed asked, fingertips clenching around the blade.

'Oh yes,' the voice said, 'The four of us. Remember?'

Jed remembered; he felt a pang of regret, of a wasted opportunity. 'So you all got out?'

'You sound surprised.'

'No, just disappointed.' Jed now turned, eyes locking with one that got away. 'I won't make that mistake again.'

The man in front of him shook his head, eyes dark. 'It's over- I'm to arrest you and take you back to the city.'

'I don't think so.' Jed muttered, eyes narrowed and a horrible smile on his face. 'You say the others are out there?' he nodded his head to the door. 'Once I'm through with you I'll get them too.'

The man scoffed, shaking his head. 'We can do this the hard way or the easy way.' he started, his nerves starting to fire in anticipation. 'It's your choice.'

'No,' Jed growled, moving the blade in his hand so he could get a better grip. 'It's yours-' he stepped forwards, hand raised.

The man seemed to be expecting this- he moved to the side, hands out to deflect the blow; he grabbed Jed's arm and twisted, but Jed was quicker-he moved to the side and elbowed him in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards with a grunt of pain.

He followed up the blow with a punch to the side of the head, knocking him sideways and into a tall wooden cabinet; once he was back on his feet properly he launched at the man with the blade, but still the man managed to avoid it. He was good, Jed would give him that.

He gasped out as he received a punch to his own jaw, sending him skittering backwards a few steps.

'You think I won't kill you?!' Jed shouted, eyes dark as the man stood up straighter, a line of blood trickling down his face.

Jed moved the blade back into a better position in his hand and came forwards again- this time he went for a high blow, arm raised above his head.

The man growled out and threw himself forwards, into the path of the blade- right at the last second he grasped Jed's arm and forced it downwards so the blade was between them; Jed growled out in exertion, feeling sweat fall down his face.

His grip slipped, and he knew it was over then. It happened in a split second; the blade was pushed forwards and with all the weight Jed had been using to get it to the man in front of him, it was too late to redirect it. His eyes widened as he felt it penetrate his chest; he sank to the floor, hands around the knife.

Aramis stood backwards as the bastard took his last short, painful breaths. He leant his walking stick against a crumbling wall, and with a groan of pain as discomfort rippled across his stomach, knelt down, careful not to get blood on his trousers as he looked down at the dying man; he bent down so his face was as close to the other man's face as he could get.

'Told you I'd come back and kill you.' he whispered. As he stood up he felt only minimal satisfaction- he had wanted him to hang. A small part of him had wanted him to be tortured in the dungeons, his screams ricocheting off the walls. The better, humane side of him was just relieved he had finally been found and stopped.

He looked down as the man by his feet gurgled up some blood, his face a stark white against his black hair

The Musketeer breathed in deeply, steadying himself. There was no more that could be done for him now.

He picked up his walking stick again, and massaged the side of his head; another bruise to add to his collection. He stepped forwards, around the dying man; a pool of blood was slowly moving outwards, soaking the wood and seeping into the cracks.

 _Step, step, tap. Step, step, tap._ Jed didn't even have the strength to look up- his eyes swivelled to follow the Musketeer's footfalls, and the tapping of his walking stick as he passed on his way out of the door.

* * *

As Aramis stepped outside the first person he saw was Treville. His Captain's face was lined with concern as he walked forwards; his eyes widened as he saw the blood and the blooming bruise on his Marksman's face.

As he opened his mouth to speak Aramis waved away the concern. 'He came off worse, believe me.' he muttered, to which Treville gave him a look.

'We wanted to question him, to get information-'

'He may not be dead yet,' Aramis said, voice dark. 'You can probably salvage some information if you're quick.'

Treville nodded, and as he passed Aramis to go into the house he put a gloved hand on his upper arm, squeezing it a little. 'Are you alright?' he asked, eyes searching the younger man's.

Aramis gave him a small smile. He thought back to everything that had happened here, in these woods, in the barn around the corner. He thought back to their slow recovery, the slowly abating nightmares, their midnight walks together when they couldn't sleep. He thought back to the infection in his stomach wound that had caused him to use a walking stick for the past few days, and for many days to come. He nodded, putting a hand on his Captain's shoulder and squeezing it in return.

'I will be.' he replied, before motioning the house with his eyes. 'If you're quick you can get some answers out of him.'

Treville nodded, gave him a small smile in return, and stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Aramis turned his back on the house and began his slow walk towards the trees. Athos watched him approach, eyes never leaving his friend as he slowly made his way to where he, Porthos and D'artagnan were standing.

As the medic came to a stop next to him Athos looked him up and down, taking in the bruised face. 'Been in another fight, I see.'

'He attacked me- he ended up regretting it.'

Athos nodded at that, before tapping his shoulder with a gloved hand. 'Come on, I spotted a tavern on the way here...' he muttered, before mounting his horse.

'One more stop first.' Porthos reminded them, patting the man of a large horse that was reigned to a brand new cart. The cart was filled with blankets, firewood, wine and food .D'artagnan smiled as he mounted his own horse- he hoped Jack and Marie would accept their gifts. They all felt guilty that their cart had been destroyed, and no one had found their old mare.

Aramis smiled as he gingerly got onto his own horse; it was their way of thanking them for everything they had done to help them.

As the four of them slowly made their way towards the couple's house he turned his head and looked across to the wooden house, and the barn that poked out from the corner. There may be horrible, despicable people in the world, he thought to himself, before moving his horse forwards to join the others. But there were good people out there, and that was why they did their job, despite the horrors they sometimes endured.

* * *

 **The End.**

 **Well, hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

 **Please review one last time, even if you've never reviewed before- I'd really like to know your thoughts on this; it really helps me improve for the next fic ^^**

 **I have got at least three more ideas for multi-chaptered fics, more chapters planned for an expansion to my ABC of hurt/comfort, plus another one-shot anthology, so the ideas aren't stopping yet!**

 **As ever, thank you for reading this little tale of mine, and I hope you read again once I post some more!**

 **Until next time...**

 **Happyday girl**

 **x**


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